The blood on his hands was comforting. Something about it felt familiar, even holy. It was almost painful to watch it dissipate into the cold water of the Chiontar. His linen shirt was bloodied as well, but washing his hands was about the biggest exertion he could muster amidst the throbbing in his skull.
He realized there was a piece of raw meat stuck in his teeth. As soon as he started to think of the implications, he threw up into the river.
Gods have mercy.
Cole rolled onto his back, massaging his temples. The Urge had felt different that night, wild and hungry. The small violent perversions from the days before, the kicking, the prodding, the slips of the tongue… they were all just little glimpses into what was to come, getting harder to repress each day.
From the moment he saw Alfira, the Urge had been screeching in his skull, demanding he end that sweet thing. He'd been such a fool to believe he could control himself.
He rolled to his side to look at the mangled bard at the other side of the camp, arranged into a ritual circle like a lamb for sacrifice.
Amid the blood and the gore, the pounding headache, and the regrets gripping his heart, he couldn't ignore the ecstasy the sight offered him. No matter how much he wanted to believe it was the tadpole's doing, he knew the hunger, and the joy, were his alone. The entire deed had felt so natural, it was probably only a matter of time before he woke up next to the mangled remains of one of his new companions. The poor fools, whose only mistake had been to trust him.
Cole pressed his palms to his eyes and let out a heavy sigh. He couldn't let this happen again, but it seemed this was not anything he had any control over. The darkness within seemed to have a will of its own and it seemed to be only getting worse.
His chest tightened. Even the air didn't feel the same anymore as he began to hyperventilate.
How many days until he was a mindless husk, devouring every living creature in his path?
No matter how he tried to approach this, he kept arriving at the same conclusion: Only the blade could end this madness.
He sighed and reached for the dagger on his belt.
He brought the sharp blade against his throat, but was alarmed to discover his hands refused to push further. His own body refused to cooperate. The demon inside wanted to live.
Suddenly, something Astarion had said only a night ago darted into his mind.
"One good thrust to the heart and you're gone."
This would solve everything.
Cole propped up with a sudden surge of energy and scrambled over to Astarion's tent, the idea sounding better with each passing moment.
He was a little apprehensive as he closed in to touch him; what if the bard hadn't fully satisfied his hunger? Would his hands even obey this time?
He slowly grabbed Astarion's shoulder. The hand didn't stray to his neck or anything.
Excellent.
Cole shook his shoulder. "Astarion! Astarion!" he whispered, trying not to wake the entire camp.
Waking up looked almost painful as Astarion could barely open his eyes. "W-what?"
"Astarion… Please. Uh…you have to kill me."
That was enough to wipe sleep from his mind entirely. "What?"
Cole could see his eyes drift and stare at his blood-soaked shirt.
"What happened to you?"
"I'm becoming a monster. I don't really want to explain. Please."
Astarion propped himself up on his elbows, getting more annoyed with each passing moment.
"Why does it smell like a bloodbath in here?" He sniffed the air around him, pushing Cole aside as he picked up a scent from the far side of the camp.
Astarion was up and moving directly toward Alfira before Cole could stop him.
He almost jumped out of his pants at the sight. "What in the hells?" He looked at Cole for an explanation. "Did you do this?" he whispered, frantic.
Cole strolled to his side, avoiding his gaze. "I'm fairly sure, yes."
Astarion became more agitated by the second. "You're fairly sure? You're drenched in blood for god's sake—"
"Ssshh! Please. Let's not wake the entire camp!"
They looked at the bard.
"I-I must've blacked out. I don't remember anything… Anything besides the hunger, " he hesitated. "And the euphoria."
He could feel Astarion slowly turn to look at him, but didn't dare to look away from the bard to meet his gaze.
"I felt almost feral. It's like... some darkness inside me was acting out its own desires." He let out a heavy sigh. "That darkness will strike again. I'm sure of it"
Cole looked at the dagger in his hands and held the hilt out to Astarion, locking eyes with him at last.
"No."
"What do you mean, no? I need to be stopped, it's not safe!"
"I won't kill you."
Cole closed the distance between them, nestled the dagger into Astarion's hand, closed his fist around it, and directed it to his chest.
"One quick thrust," he whispered, staring into his bright red eyes, hands clasped around Astarion's, holding the dagger, "Just like you said. Please. Before it's too late."
Astarion only stared at him quietly, trying to make sense of him.
Suddenly, a voice echoed from the distance. "Chk!"
Lae'zel was now awake and approaching fast.
"What is all this commotion, some of us are trying to…"
She stopped short in her tracks. "Kaincha! This is some sloppy work!"
Astarion freed himself from Cole's grip. "Don't look at me! Only one of us is drenched in blood."
This woke everyone and soon they were all standing around the murder scene. A quick death before an embarrassing social encounter was definitely out of the cards now.
Wyll knelt next to Alfira. "She wouldn't have harmed a housefly. A gentle young soul, slain in her prime."
Lae'zel turned to Cole. "You. Talk."
"I think I killed her."
Will shook his head slowly as if he didn't want to believe it.
"Well, that much is obvious. But why?" Lae'zel stared at Cole's bloody clothes with disdain. "Let's hope the explanation is less sloppy than the kill."
Their stares could almost pierce his soul.
"I don't remember what happened, I must've blacked out."
Lae'zel nodded sagely. "The tadpole's doing, no doubt. Although... an ordinary tadpole would indeed devour your memories, but our tadpoles are far from ordinary. I wonder if another factor could be in play."
He could still blame it all on the tadpole.
No. They deserved to know what lunatic they were traveling with.
"No, I don't think it's the tadpole. I've already told all of you how I don't remember anything from before I woke up on the Nautiloid. I don't even know my real name for god's sake."
Seems like everyone remembered, so he continued.
"Well, I'm not a completely empty slate though. I have these urges sometimes… I want to kill, I want blood. I want to rip and tear into flesh with my bare hands."
Lae'zel crossed her arms and sighed. "I don't know what your ailment is, but I'll tell you what I think anyway. I won't miss Alfira. But I won't stand for chaos. Govern this... hunger!"
"We all have bloody thoughts sometimes. You just need to focus your rage on the right targets. Give your urge some sustenance so it wouldn't lash out." Wyll said.
Cole couldn't believe what he was hearing. "What? Do you think I can just control this? Are you crazy? Just kill me and you can sleep easy. And before you tell me to just leave, no, you'd only be dooming some other people to die instead of you."
Wyll sighed. "I won't lie, it does look bad. But we can't start killing each other after every mishap or there will be no one left. Let's at least agree to try to be better."
Shadowheart nodded along to what Wyll was saying. "It seems to me you still have a twinge of conscience at least. That's a good start. I don't think you're the monster you fear you are. At least not yet."
"And if the urge proves too much, well, I'm sure we can find you a goblin or two to carve up. We have no shortage of enemies," Lae'zel offered.
They had a point. "All right. I'll… try."
"Good boy. I'll be keeping an eye on you, though," Lae'zel said as they all departed.
Every instinct within him screamed as he dared to make that promise. The headache was back with a rage and he had to sit down on his bedroll lest he fainted. Could they have been right? Could he really avoid losing control if he let loose more during fights? Seemed more like a fool's hope if anything.
"Just so you know, I don't judge you for what happened to Alfira."
Cole looked up, startled. He had forgotten Astarion had been standing behind him the entire time.
"But the look of guilt on your face was priceless."
"I'm glad you had fun watching me sweat."
"I don't care, really. But you need to be more subtle about your actions in the future. It's dangerous to let everyone know who… how far you can go."
With that Astarion left for his tent. Cole let his eyes follow him as he walked away. What an odd piece of advice. However, he might have been right. People outside of their little circle were probably less understanding.
He wondered if he should've told Astarion how the Urge had been clawing at him from the inside after they had just met, insisting he would make a very pretty corpse. A grave omen. The demon within had clearly decided his fate already and would strike as soon as his new little experiment at self-control failed — which, in all honesty, probably would.
"You should've killed me when you had the chance," he mumbled before drifting off to sleep.
His dreams had been exceptionally vivid the past few days. This time he dreamed of the scenes from the previous night. The bard, the ritual circle, the blood. The scene played over and over, as though the Urge wanted to admire the act from every possible angle.
Suddenly the scene changed and the mood shifted. Cole was now kneeling beside Astarion. His bloody hand reached for his throat, but stopped, moving to lightly caress his cheek instead.