AN: Enjoy the chapter folks! Be sure to leave a review when you finish!
Edited 3/17/18
Berserk
Chapter Eleven
{i'll ask of the Berserks, you tasters of blood}
Natsu watches Lucy until she disappears into the trees, heading west for Jorah. He grits his teeth as the forest swallows her, jaw locking and fingers clenching. They're still too far from Jorah and he's not sure how long she'll be able to run on her leg the way it is. It's been getting better everyday, but if she hurts it again… He shakes the thoughts off, glaring up at the other Berserk, who hasn't moved since he'd brought Natsu to his knees.
Growling, Natsu forces himself back to his feet, dragging his gaze away from where Lucy disappeared and back to his opponent. The other man doesn't so much as twitch, just keeps smiling: wide and cruel, rife with bad intentions. Anger bubbles in his chest at the grin on the man's mouth, Natsu's lips curling back over his teeth to bare them in a snarl that makes the trees quiver around them. A low rumble tears from somewhere deep in his chest, and the older Berserk eyes him almost wearily. Any fear is masked behind his smile, however, and Natsu finds himself wanting to rip it straight from his lips.
Blood leaks from the fresh cut across Natsu's chest, but the dull throb is masked by the burning heat flooding through his veins, his temper rising to uncontrollable levels, ones he's been trying to force down for days. Typically, it's easy enough to drown out the anger—the bloodlust—but with the constant running, the paranoia and sleepless nights, Natsu knows that it won't be a matter of simply shoving the anger aside. He can already feel the red tugging at the edge of his mind, begging to take control. It's been ages since he last lost himself naturally, several months at the very least.
He's been aching for a good fight.
Natsu shakes himself, shoving back the red. It's not what he needs, not right not, at least. He just needs to buy Lucy time to get to Jorah, nothing else. If he loses complete control, there's no telling what he might do, especially if Lucy tries to double back and he doesn't realize it's her until—and Natsu won't risk that.
The other Berserk watches him for a long moment, more curious than anything else, and Natsu finds the lack of action to be both appreciated and greatly concerning. His chest has been aching since Lucy first stabbed him, his breathing remaining unsteady despite the days passing. And now that the wound has been reopened it'll only be worse. Natsu glances down at the blood on his chest briefly, relieved to notice the amount is less than he originally thought.
Pale, clear blue eyes lock with his green ones and Natsu purses his lips in thought. For the other Berserk to pause like this he's either a very gracious opponent or he's been calculating Natsu's reactions, and he wouldn't bet money on the former if he had any.
"Should we go after her, Brother?" the other man asks, almost teasingly, but there's a hint of malice in his tone. Natsu can only begin to imagine what the other Berserk would do to Lucy if he caught her, and the thought makes his stomach twist into sick knots. His anger rises once more, but the older Berserk doesn't appear to care. His smile only widens, enough to show a mouthful of sharp, white teeth, each one filed into an unnatural point. Natsu is unfamiliar with the custom, but knows immediately that the other Berserk wasn't born in Alvarez or even further North.
A Southerner then, likely one that's never seen a real winter. Ulfræders. Blood traitors. That's what Igneel called them once. Those who forsake the ice, abandoners of Djehl. Igneel once said that those who abandon the Northlands don't deserve the blessing of the Old Gods.
Natsu's hands clench into tight fists and rolls his neck until it gives a satisfying crack. His spine stretches out, each vertebrae giving a sharp 'pop' as he twists. The other Berserk continues to watch curiously as Natsu shakes himself out, head cocking to one side and his eyes narrowing. When Natsu grins it's more of a snarl than anything else, all sharp teeth.
He thinks about that the other Berserk said, about going after Lucy, and a low growl rumbles in his chest, guttural and warning. "You can try," he threatens, slowly circling right so that he's facing towards the east, the sun burning at his back. The trees around them go quiet suddenly, and Natsu can't help but feel relieved, having long grown tired of their murmured nonsense.
The taller Berserk throws his head back and laughs, shoulders heaving. It's a full body laugh, his entire frame quivering, straight down to his knees, which shake so violently that Natsu thinks they may collapse beneath him. The Berserk stops just as suddenly as he'd started, though the amusement doesn't leave his eyes. "I like a challenge," he tells Natsu, an odd flicker in his gaze that makes Natsu uncomfortable.
It's a look that promises pain, but that's not what unnerves him, no, it's the complete lack of regard for human life he can see just below the surface. More than just a look promising pain, it's a look that promises enjoyment of that pain.
Disgust bubbles in his chest, but Natsu doesn't let it show, merely steels his expression into one of indifference. He gives the other man a quick look, noticing immediately the lack of scars on his skin. Berserks have always worn them like trophies, the carved marks a symbol of pride—honor—yet this man has none.
A blood traitor then, but also a fraud.
"You think you can beat me?" Natsu snarls, feeling his own shoulders shake with silent laughter. He swallows it down, knowing better than to let his arrogance show. The King has sent nothing more than a joke after them, more bark than bite. It's almost insulting.
His chest gives another sore ache, and Natsu fights back a wince, his teeth grinding together in irritation. However insulting it may be, Natsu knows that he might not be able to win otherwise, not in the state he's in now. He hasn't fought a Berserk to kill since the arenas, and that was nearly a decade ago.
They're an even match, both able to block out the pain until there's nothing but rage left. And Natsu expects nothing less than a bloodbath.
The other male shifts on his feet, lips twitching and eyes amused. "I think we'll find out." It's the only warning Natsu gets, before the man is suddenly lunging forward across the grass.
The blow hits him hard—harder than he was expecting—and Natsu is clear off his feet for several seconds before he slams onto the ground on his back. A hand grapples for his throat, but Natsu wedges a foot between them and lifts. He catches the other Berserk's arm and wrenches him forward, sending the bulkier man over his head. Natsu snarls as the weight disappears, rolling to one side just in time to avoid a blow where his head would have been.
The ground shatters, splintering like glass instead of dirt, and the trees scream murder. He's heard stories of the forests being connected, the trees' roots winding all throughout the woods and touching every living creature—feeling every creature. He believes that now, feeling the weight of their sorrow lay heavy in his mind and in his heart. It's suffocating for a moment, and then the weight is gone from his shoulders, the trees' misery slowly creeping back inside themselves. The trees say nothing more, and Natsu's heart aches for them.
Noting his distraction, the other Berserk twists around, aiming a kick towards Natsu's throat, only to have his leg caught inches away. Natsu snarls, fingers tightening around the joint until he can hear bone grinding together, creaking and threatening to snap. The limb is yanked from his grasp before he can do anything else, and Natsu scrambles back to his feet, watching the other Berserk limp backwards with some satisfaction, a bruise surely forming around his ankle.
Natsu merely sneers back when he notices the other man's glare, his contempt rising when he notices the lack of burnished gold settled around his throat, no bright ruby twinkling against his skin. Ulfræder. "They didn't collar you." It's not a question, not really. Natsu knows that if they wanted him collared he would be. There's no escaping the heavy weight of gold, not for them. Natsu knows the feeling of it well, the inky blackness that creeps into his mind and takes control, the pain that jolts through his head and down his spine. He knows what the collars do, but he would rather suffer through that pain than know he went along with anything willingly.
The Berserk shrugs, then fakes right, glancing a blow off Natsu's cheek. It stings briefly, but he knows it won't bruise. The other man snarls, towering over Natsu and lashing out with another fist, one that Natsu ducks under easily. He slips under the Berserk's arm, not hesitating as he surges upwards and knocks his temple against the other man's chin, dazing him just enough for Natsu to hook a leg around his and send him spiraling onto his back.
The downed Berserk grunts, shoving his hair out of his face. "They didn't need to," he snarls back, pulling himself up from the dirt. Natsu's lips curve back over his teeth at the confession. It was something he already guessed, but to hear it aloud? He doesn't think he's ever been more disgusted with one of his kin. Pergrande has slaughtered their Berserks, beaten them into nothing, and this man works for them willingly.
Natsu would rather be dead.
"Why come after us?" he asks, throwing himself to the side to avoid a strike. "Why not take the chance to run?" He isn't fast enough to dodge the second, and a fist is driven into the side of his ribs, just above the armor around his abdomen.
The other man snorts, shaking his head as a sick smile spreads across his lips. "Now, why would I want to run?" he asks, a teasing lilt to his voice. His eyes are serious, however, gold and glossy, broken.
There's a pang of sadness in Natsu's chest, a sadness that wells in his throat, but he swallows it down, gritting his teeth. He has no sympathy for this man, not when he's gone along with Pergrande willingly for so long. Not when he's murdered innocent people in the name of the King. "After everything they've done," he scoffs shaking his head. A bittersweet laugh slips from his lips, his shoulders shaking as contempt creeps through his veins. "Traitor!" Natsu lunges driving a fist across the man's already broken nose, satisfaction crawling down his spine when he hears it crack in a second place.
The blood on his hands makes his fingers slick, and Natsu winces as red clouds his vision on the left, blood dripping into his eye from a cut above his brow. The man doesn't give pause as he swings right back at Natsu, sharp nails cutting him across the cheek and a fist driving into his chest, just below the knife wound that's been reopened. Natsu bites back a whine, attempting to ignore the screaming in his lungs and the sore ache that his chest gives every time he breathes in.
"I was born in Bosco, you know," the taller man tells him, cracking his knuckles against Natsu's cheek hard enough to bruise. A foot glances off his ankle and Natsu stumbles backwards, catching himself before he can fall. He retaliates with a strike of his own, satisfied when he sees blood well across the other man's shoulder. "Slave traders." Natsu's head cracks to the side, blood running down his chin. He wets his lips, veins burning at the scent of blood in the air. "I had a choice and I made it."
Natsu sneers as he side-steps the man's arm, fingers curling around his wrist and twisting. The other Berserk twitches and snarls, swinging with his free hand, but Natsu catches that one as well. Blood drips down Natsu's fingers as his nails dig into the man's wrists, and the Berserk gives a low warning growl that Natsu ignores. "You walked away from one master into the hands of another," he snarls, almost mockingly, twisting the other man's arm until it threatens to snap.
"I have no master!" The other man jerks away with so much force that Natsu's left arm ignites with pain, his hand falling limp at his side, fingers going numb. Natsu glances down at his arm, wincing when he sees his arm hanging uselessly at his side, his shoulder pulled out of place. It hurts more than he could ever imagine, but he grits his teeth and forces himself bite it back, unwilling to show his pain.
Natsu spits out blood, sneering. "A dog with no collar is still a dog," he tells the man, straightening his back when he sees the other man begin to shake almost violently. Natsu almost has him where he wants him: angry and stupid. Their anger is powerful, but only if they can control it. Bulkier? Stronger? It doesn't matter if they let the red cloud everything else.
The other man pauses, going eerily still. "Shut up," he snaps, blue eyes going icy as he stares back at Natsu, a mess of red and gold. Blood drips down from his nose, coating the lower half of his face in a deep ruby, some of it beginning to dry already, peeling and flaking. Natsu glances down at the man's chest, pleased to see the rune for chaos has been warped, smeared until it's unrecognizable.
No one should value chaos above family, even those who have no family left.
"You've abandoned your people," Natsu tells him, softer than before. The words lay heavy between them, the air growing still and the trees still hidden away inside themselves, trembling and mourning. The other man goes still, his shoulders going rigid and his back straightening. His fingers curl into fists, palms trembling. "And your pride."
To abandon one's people is the greatest offense a Berserk can commit. To turn their back on the Old Gods—to leave behind your family and friends—to trade protection for bloodlust. It's the ultimate form of disgrace.
The other Berserk laughs then, but it's shaky and his hands won't stop trembling. "What people?" he asks Natsu, lips twisting into a bitter smile. His blue eyes frost over, the heat and the anger leaving behind something colder, something calculating and cruel. "They already abandoned us."
Natsu takes a step back, remembering his mother and the way she handed him off to strange men, weeping but never once trying to take him back. Anger curls in his gut, but he shoves it down, buries it and leaves it for a later day. His mother loved him in her own ways. Igneel loved him. He won't spit on their graves and abandon their memories.
"Ulfræder," Natsu calls him, voice barely a whisper as it carries across the clearing, a roar amongst the silence. The Berserk startles, the word a blow. He takes a step back, eyes going wide and lips curving back over his unnatural teeth. A growl bubbles in his throat.
The trees quiver around them, pulling their minds back to the surface. The Ellyra take up the new word, hissing it among themselves, murmuring it and sneering. It spreads, until every tree around them is snarling the word towards the other Berserk, voices growing louder and louder until Natsu can barely think.
Ulfræder.
The other man snarls back, "Descæter." Deserter. Natsu merely laughs. He didn't have anyone in Pergrande to desert. Not by the end.
The other man lunges and for several minutes it's a whirl of red. Natsu's arm continues to hang at his side, dislocated and aching, a burning wracking his body every time the limb is shifted and bumped. A cut is made across his chest, criss-crossing the one made by Lucy and sending a new gush of blood dripping down his front. It's not as deep or thick as the first, but it's longer, and more blood spills out when he moves his arms—when he breathes.
Natsu returns the favor, clawing at the other man, tearing his nails across skin and drawing blood. He hopes they scar—hopes they serve as a reminder of this day.
This man should have ran from Pergrande and the King when he was given the chance.
Somehow they end up on the ground, rolling through the dirt and smearing blood across the grass, Natsu wraps his good arm around the other man's throat and squeezes, though not hard enough to snap his neck. "Stand down," he orders through grit teeth, wanting to give the man another chance. Natsu knows well what Pergrande has done, he knows that the other Berserk deserves freedom before death, even if his hands are itching to finish the fight.
Neither of them have lost control yet, but it's only a matter of time. And when they do there's no telling what might happen. Natsu is sure this isn't the only Berserk tracking them, the king wouldn't risk sending just one to finish the job, he's always been too liberal with his soldiers, never knowing when to let things go. So long as they're in Pergrande there'll be someone following close behind them.
His blood runs cold when he thinks of Lucy, alone now and heading for Jorah. He needs to get back to her, has to make sure she gets back to Fiore—
"Why would I want to do that," the Berserk sneers back, his own hands curling around Natsu's wrist, trying to force him off. Natsu snarls back, forcing more of his weight onto the other man's throat until he wheezes and his nails begin to dig into Natsu's wrist, drawing blood. The scent of blood becomes too much, and Natsu feels his control begin to slip, his bones thrumming and excitement welling in his chest.
He swallows it down, eyes sad as he stares down at the Berserk. "I don't want to hurt you," he admits, though it sounds unconvincing even to him. He does want to hurt the other man, wants to kill him, but mostly he wants to stop the itch creeping up his spine and tingling at the back of his neck. He wants to fight—wants to lose control and rip his opponent to pieces, but he also knows that isn't him. It's the beast in his chest, clawing its way out.
A foot is pressed into his gut and Natsu thrown to one side. He rolls, landing deftly on his feet. The other Berserk stands as well, the look in his eyes screaming bad intentions. "Oh, but I do," he tells Natsu, malice in his tone. "I really wanna hurt you, but first, I think I want to make the little girl scream." He turns west, making to run in the direction Lucy disappeared to minutes earlier, perhaps even longer.
Natsu snarls and tackles him before he can get more than a few steps away. He curls his good arm around the man's throat choking him from behind, squeezing until the man begins to stumble. Rage floods through Natsu, washing away every ounce of sympathy previously clawing at his heart and replacing it was something darker. The beast squirms in his chest, fighting to be released, and Natsu's control slips even further, so much so that he snarls into the other man's ear, wanting to sink his teeth into the man's throat and tear out the blood from within.
The other Berserk squirms, twisting just enough to bury his teeth into Natsu's bicep, his head thrashing and ripping, blood immediately welling around the wound. Natsu roars, releasing him suddenly and kicking him forward. The Berserk stumbles, but doesn't fall. He turns back to Natsu with a bloody smile, red smeared across his lips and dripping down his chin. Natsu glances down at his arm, but there's too much blood for him to see the extent of the bite. He turns back to the other man, snarling.
"Temper," the other man drawls, throat bruising and voice hoarse from the damage. The beginning of a deep bruise licks at his skin, red bleeding beneath the skin. He stares back at Natsu, licking the blood from his lips, satisfaction in his eyes. "What's wrong?" His head tilts to one side as he glances from Natsu's arm to the murder in his eyes. "Didn't like that?"
Natsu cracks his knuckles, gaze hard. "Stay away from her," he growls, voice even but low. There's a threat there, a quiet one that promises pain, but the other man merely laughs, broad shoulders shaking.
"I hit a nerve, didn't I?" he asks, sarcasm dripping from his tongue. He rolls his shoulders, a pensive expression on his face as he pretends to think about something. "How bout, I drag her back here," he starts, gesturing after Lucy, "and you watch." Natsu snarls and he laughs. "I could tear her apart, you know? I bet she has the sweetest screams."
Natsu swings blindly catching him below the eye and cracking something, though he thinks it may be his own hand. The Berserk stumbles back, but block Natsu's next strike, leaning in close to whisper in his ear. "I bet she'll beg," he coos, so close Natsu can smell the blood on his mouth. "Did she beg you to stop?" A roar leaves him, but the other man just laughs. Fingers lock around Natsu's wrists, holding him in place as the Berserk continues to taunt him. "Did she cry when you had your hand around her throat and started to squeeze?" Natsu flinches, feeling like there's a hand wrapped around his heart and squeezing. "I bet she did, but you didn't stop. You just held on tight and tighter and—" He cuts off suddenly, a sick smile on his face when he leans back, meeting Natsu's eyes. "I bet you liked it."
Natsu finally shoves him back, his teeth grinding together as the other Berserk steps back, laughing. The trees have gone quiet once more, and Natsu can't help but be thankful. He doesn't want to know what things they'd say about him. Bile rises high in his throat as he remembers the scent of Lucy's blood, how much he did enjoy it. He can't remember he screaming, but he's glad he can't. He doesn't think he would be able to sleep at night if he could. "You don't know me," he forces out, the words shaky and thick with self-loathing.
Sometimes Natsu doesn't even know himself.
"Why don't I just finish up here and then go get her?" the other man continues, slowly circling to the right, towards Jorah and Lucy. Natsu bares his teeth but stays quiet this time. His palm shakes at his side, his throat tight, and Natsu can barely breathe as he registers the other man's words. "She do that to your chest? Little spitfire. Just how I like 'em," the Berserk jokes, giving a low, teasing whistle.
Natsu sneers, wanting to kill the other Berserk, but knowing that he'll hate himself for it afterwards. He lunges anyway, knocking them both to the ground once again. The Berserk kicks Natsu to one side, sending him rolling onto his back. "You abandoned you post for a pretty face," he hisses at Natsu, disgust evident in his tone.
Rolling out of the way of a fist, Natsu laughs, one leg swinging forward to knock against the man's ribs as he scrambles to his feet. "I didn't have a post to abandon," he tells the Berserk, shaking the grass from his limbs and watching the other man struggle back to his feet. He lunges forward then, catching the other Berserk across the jaw before driving a vicious kick into the man's knee, satisfied when he hears it crack. The other man stumbles forward, doubled over, and Natsu drives a knee into the man's face, knocking him backwards several steps. "Do you want to know why she ran?"
The other Berserk spits out blood. "She's a coward," he tells Natsu, baring his teeth. He swings, catching Natsu under the chin and sending his head snapping to one side.
Natsu laughs so hard that his shoulders begin to tremble, the open wounds on his chest screaming in pain as his movements pull at the skin. "No," he chuckles, gaze steely as he looks at the other Berserk. "I just didn't want her to watch as I killed you."
The next several minutes are a red haze, blood spraying across the ground, skin ripping and tearing, the smell of metal and death heavy in the air, choking off Natsu's senses and leaving him unable to simply breathe. One of his fingers breaks and his left arm is yanked further out of its socket. the wound on his chest splits further, and other Berserk drives two fingers into the hole left by Lucy's knife, digging them deep into his flesh and wiggling them until Natsu screams and throws him off. Snarls and screams fill the air between them, blocking out the low murmuring of the Ellyra until the clearing is little more than a cacophony of painful sounds.
Somehow, Natsu ends up on his back beneath the other Berserk, hands are wrapped around his throat, choking him, and Natsu's lungs begin to scream. For a moment, he lies there, stunned. Wondering if the burning in his chest is similar to what Lucy felt when he had his own hands curling around her neck. Another pang of guilt hits him in the chest, ghostly fingers coiling around his heart and squeezing.
He wonders if he deserves this.
Above him, the other Berserk cackles, speaking lowly in his ear about how he's not going to kill him, just make him hurt. How he's going to make Lucy hurt, too, and how Natsu's going to watch. It makes his stomach twist, but he can't get a foot between them to knock the man aside.
His right arm stings at his side, blood still leaking from the angry bite mark on his bicep. He tries to swing, but the Berserk ducks to the side, laughing. "You think she'll beg for it?" the Berserk asks. "I do. I think she'd beg me to stop—for you to help her. But you can't even save yourself, can you?" he hisses, squeezing Natsu's throat tighter in his fist. "She's going to die slowly and it's going to be your fault."
A low whine escapes Natsu's throat, but he swallows down any other sounds that may spill from him. Something sharp digs into the side of his leg, just beneath his boot, and Natsu's fingers twitch when he remembers what he took. He struggles to shift his leg, begging his hand to reach just a little farther, if not for his life than for Lucy's.
Something warm and sharp pricks at his fingers, the flat edge of carved stone slicing against his palm as he grasps at it blindly, uncaring of the broken edge and splintered pieces of stone dragging across his skin.
His hand comes away bloody and slick, but he grips the stone tighter in his hand, swinging up and out, aiming for anything he can hit. There's a scream, a squelch of blood, and a sick crack. The pressure around Natsu's throat loosens, a shaky exhale leaving the Berserk above him.
Natsu glances up, meeting wide, pain filled, icy blue eyes. Natsu drops his hand to the side, leaving the piece of stone lodged into the side of the other Berserk's neck, unable to feel anything at all. The Berserk's hands go to his throat, clawing at the side of his neck as blood begins to drip from his skin. A low whimper leaves the older man, soft and heartbreaking, but Natsu only snarls and snatches the stone from his throat, uncaring of the blood that spurts across his skin.
The Berserk collapses against him, choking and sputtering, but Natsu shoves him, kicking him aside so that the man is staring up at the sky. He glances down at the stone in his hand, wipes the blood against his pants, then shoves the object back into his boot for another time.
For a long moment he stares down at the blood on his skin—his hands, his chest, he can feel it on his lips—listening to the sounds of the Berserk die beside him, muffled nonsense leaving his mouth, buried beneath sobs. He wants to feel bad as he looks at all the blood, but he isn't sorry. Not for this.
Natsu doesn't know how long he sits there alone in the forest, listening to the trees whisper and the Berserk gasp for air as he claws at his throat—long enough for the sun to burn low in the West and for the Berserk to fall silent and still. Lone enough for Natsu to hear him die.
After what must be hours he finally glances to the left, forcing himself to sit up as he stares down at the other Berserk. His eyes are open, glossy and unseeing as he stares up at the stars for one last time. His lips are parted in a silent cry, blood coating the entirety of his left side around his head. Tear tracks leave two silver lines across his face, the blood and dirt washed away by salt.
He forces himself to his feet, legs unsteady beneath him as he stares down at the dead man, unsure what to do now that it's over. He glances West, to Jorah. Five miles. Lucy's waiting for him. He glances down at his bloody chest, shivering, then back at the body on the ground.
"Ashtacar," he murmurs, the blessing falling from his lips instinctually. A prayer for safe travels. "Ashtacar."
AN: This chapter was a bitch. Get ready for some (slow burn) nalu next chapter though! I'm really sorry about not sending a preview of this chapter to reviews, but I kind of started this last night. Yeah. It's been a bad week and writing has been the last thing on my mind.
Sorry for any mistakes! I'll be fixing them later tonight!
Be sure to leave a review and tell me what you thought! Thanks for over 400 followers and be sure to check out my new story Incandescent and vote in the poll on my page!
Glossary of World-building terms (all created by me, though may be influenced by other languages):
Ashtacar: Berserker word meaning "safe travels." Traditionally used between friends and family, it has since become a way to honor the dead, granting them "safe travels" on their way to the next life.
Ulfræder: Berserk word for "blood traitor." It's a relatively heavy insult. Being a "blood traitor" is an unforgivable act equated to the abandonment of family, culture, and morality.
Descæter: Berserk word for "deserter." Follows the same vein of Ulfræder, but is less insulting. Blood traitors abandon their homes and families, while a deserter abandons their post/army position.