Darkness Closing In
Author: TUCfan.
Pairing: Implied Korinia/OC.
Rating: T, because the game is likely meant for older teens.
Description: There was so much blood all around him. He felt like he was going insane. The darkness at the edge of his vision was closing in. And then a hand reached out and touched him.
Disclaimer: I do not own Grim Dawn (I have bought the game and all available DLC, though) or Crate Entertainment. I am simply writitng this for my own sake, not for gain.
Author's Note: Everyone, this is Grim Dawn Oneshot Number Five. Grim Dawn Oneshot Number Five, this is the reader. Glad you two have met. This was actually written before the other fic, The Battle of the Blackiron Docks, so if the consistency seems a little iffy, that's why. Trigger warning for this fic, as the Fleshworks in the game is highly gruesome.
Song: Written while listening to Lonely Moon (which is part of the Grim Dawn OST) by Steve Pardo.
Blood. There was so much blood. It was all over him, painting his armor, sword, and shield a deep red. It had sprayed his face underneath his helmet, leaving nothing unstained. Bits of flesh still clung to the bottom of his boots, and the sounds they produced made him sick to his stomach.
He was a Dervish, the strongest one around, Bane of the Loghorrean and now Theodin Marcell, the Master of Flesh, and yet, a little bit of gore made him queasy. He almost laughed at the ridiculousness of it all, but then remembered that being covered in filth and laughing for no reason would make him seem more insane than what the others already thought.
Then again, he had just saved them from the greatest nightmare that the world had ever seen. He felt like they might owe him just a smidge of gratitude for that.
Thinking back on it, the Fleshworks truly was the worst thing that had arisen since the Grim Dawn. The Cult of Ch'thon summoning the Loghorrean was pretty bad, but he was pretty sure that even that beast did not compare to a literal fortress made from the flesh of citizens abducted from the burning city.
The horrible images came to mind again. Larger areas that had puddles and pools of blood all over... screaming people encased in a layer of flesh, always writhing and never escaping... the women taken for the sole purpose of using their wombs...
Darkness began to press in on him at the edges of his vision, and his breathing became short.
"Control yourself, Ares. You have escaped, you have won. Theodin Marcell is no more, and the Fleshworks will be burned down. Just, calm down. Try not to remember," he thought to himself.
A woman he didn't know entered his room, bearing an armload of old cloths that he could use. She set the pile on the table next to the large bathtub in the room, and set about filling it with warm water. When she was finished, he stood to thank her, and his boots made an awful sound of flesh scraping against stone. The woman looked down in horror and backed away slowly, before turning and running back out of the door.
With a sigh, Ares reached down for a cloth and began to clean his armor as he removed it. Soon, he amassed a large pile of rags that would have to be burned. His armor was polished and clean again, and his sword and shield glimmered in the light as his champions against the horrors, but he himself was still stained. He figured he would have to bathe to clean himself fully.
It was an odd thing to think of, but he could not help but feel like it was accurate: his armor was clean, polished, and ready to fight. The exterior was ready to continue the battle for freedom. But the inside, the man underneath it all, was still covered in blood, still unclean and marred by the carnage.
He would never forget what the Fleshworks looked like. He would never forget the tortured screams. They would remain in his dreams for the rest of his life. It seemed as though true freedom from the Aetherials would never come, because in his mind, he would always be fighting them.
The darkness at the edge of his vision began to close in again, and his breathing picked up. "How can I do this for the rest of my life?" his mind yelled. "How can I carry this for all of my days?"
Blindly, he stumbled across the room and sat down on the bench by the bathtub. He took a shaky deep breath, trying very hard to get a grip on himself. The blood roared in his ears so loud, he could not hear anything save the oxygen flowing in and out of his lungs.
With his head bowed, and his hearing impaired, he missed the door opening, and a smaller figure stepping in. It wasn't until she laid her hand on his shoulder that he realized he was no longer alone. Korinia had come to find him.
In that moment, he was not Ares the Dervish. He was not Ares the Bane of Ch'thonians, as some had dubbed him. He was not Ares the Savior, one zealous woman had said. He was only Ares, the broken man trying to put himself back together. With a sad smile, and lacking her usual sarcasm, she squeezed his shoulder fondly. He could not bear to match her expression.
With gentle hands, contrasting the way she held her sword high and proud, she dipped one of the remaining washcloths into the warm water and brought it up to his face.
"Look up at me," she murmured. He obeyed, tilting his head up to her. She placed a hand underneath his chin and began to wipe away the grime, making him become less and less stained, and more and more back into his old self. Occasionally, as she worked, she would gaze at him instead of where she was cleaning, before throwing herself back into her job. His gaze, on the other hand, never left her.
When she was finished, she let go of his chin and dropped the rag back onto the table. She made no move to leave, however, instead sitting next to him on the bench.
He took one of her hands in his and began to rub soothing circles over her knuckles. "Why?" he simply asked.
"You've done so much for the people of Malmouth, and even for me personally. You owe us nothing, and yet you risk your life for us every day, facing the darkest of anything man has ever seen. I felt as though I ought to repay you somehow," was all she replied with.
When he made no move to reply, she raised an eyebrow at him. "What, a girl can't do a nice thing for a guy every once in a while?" she said dryly. He only smiled.
Tiredly, she pressed her side against him and placed her head on his left shoulder, sighing and closing her eyes. He leaned his head against hers, and the two finally rested.
"Maybe these memories will never leave me. Maybe I will carry them for the rest of my life. But maybe, when I carry them with Korinia, it won't be so bad," he thought to himself.
Finis. We know so little about Korinia that whatever I write, as long as she's sarcastic and sassy, could be considered canon. She's always been one of my favorite allies though, which is why I chose her. Later, in the longer things I'm working on, she'll be much more important. Happy reading!