Summary: Betrayal is the soul of this two-shot 😔✌

Vencoalt was starting to think that he was cursed. It had been such a good morning.

Tarangas had been able to entertain emself for the whole morning. Shaba had to leave em with him to go take care of the preparation of the next harvest and his youngest sibling had been content to just play with that strangely big —and still tiny— pencil Duncan had gifted him and some scraps of scrolls Terlus had left unattended. Ey had even, apparently, painted their whole family together —Vencoatl had simply smiled and complimented the beautiful scribbles that had no defined shape— and proudly proclaimed that after showing their father and eir mother, ey would hang it on the fridge. He didn't want to be the one to tell em they didn't have one of those, so he decided to simply let father deal with the surprise when they met for dinner.

Tarangas didn't have the same plan in mind.

The moment Vencoatl turned his back on em —it was just a second, just one— the whelp had vanished. No trace, no mini footprints, no nothing.

It was only after his soul came back to his body that he was able to sprint right after the kid, going down the only corridor that led to the map room, where they had been having such a pleasant time together, and praying to the fallen if they could hear him to let him find em before anybody else could.

Then, as if hearing his pleas for mercy —and after almost barreling into three different kaiju who had had the misfortune of just being at the wrong place, at the wrong time—, a miracle happened.

"Brother, are you alright?" Terlus appeared out of thin air —ve came from around a passageway that led to the valleys, having heard the stomping and not-at-all-desperate cries for ver younger sibling coming from their oldest brother—, light encompassing ver form and the squirming little lizard that waved a scroll with conviction and kicked it's little legs.

Vencoatl felt like he could breathe again.

"Tarangas, you know you can't go on your own without any of us watching you." He tried to sound firm, like their father did, but Vencoatl had not yet been trained in the art of not crumbling before big innocent eyes and trembling frills, so it came out as a plea for consideration. Tarangas simply made grabby hands toward him and let emself be held.

"But I… I… " Ey stopped talking, one hand clinging to Vencoatl's chin and patting him with as much gentleness as a child eir age could manage —something they had been practicing with em to make sure ey'd be able to control eir strength when older—, and the other little claw clutched the drawing closer to eir chest. Tarangas had lost all focus and interest in the conversation and was instead looking ahead toward the valley, that ey could see from eir perch on eir brother's arms.

Terlus cleared ver throat and Tarangas turned back to look at them.

"But I wanted to show dad and-" Ey stopped patting Vencoatl's chin and instead moved to his cheek, resting eir head on his shoulder as if having to explain emself was just too much work. "And Duncan said that you put drawings on the fridge. Like that." Tarangas held the enigmatic piece of scroll to Vencoatl's chest and patted it a few times, as if mimicking the process of hanging a drawing on the fridge, and looked up expectantly to him. As if it was just so obvious it made no sense having to explain.

Terlus opened ver mouth in that moment, as if intending to say something, but Vencoalt got there first.

"I know that, but father is not here and we said you could show him tonight at dinner, remember?" He bounced him in his arms a bit, as if trying to prompt the kid to agree with him.

It didn't work.

"But dad's there, look!" Tarangas frowned, little nose scrunched in confusion, and pointed to where the beginning of the valley could be spotted, the drawing still carefully clenched to make sure it would be in perfect condition to be showcased to the rest of the family.

"Tarangas, father is not-"

"Brother" Terlus grabbed his arm and made him look at ver, blue eyes holding an intensity not very common in ver. "Look again."

He should not have.

Vencoatl felt any color he had in his scales drain down to his feet, hands pressing Tarangas closer to his chest, ignoring the way the little one —somehow having been hiding the pencil from them— started scribbling nonsense on his arm.

"Can we go show dad my drawing now?" Ey looked at him with big blue innocent eyes, and Vencoatl found himself, again, thanking his lucky stars from still being too much of a coward to have children himself.

Vencoatl didn't know if somebody had wished him misery at some point between last night and this morning —probably a lot of people, considering the blood, both human and kaiju, that coated his hands—, but something in him decided that today was enough.

He'd feel bad about it later —because he had a soft spot for his youngest siblings, the two youngest specially—. Now, though, it was time to act.

"Duncan arrived this morning."

Terlus looked at him like he had overwatered ver new addition to ver growing plant collection —he could never manage to remember the names—, yet ve didn't complain. Terlus looked ahead like he was doing, as if trying to convince verself that what they —yes, because ve was an accomplice whether ve wanted to or not— were about to do was justified, and took a deep breath.

Tarangas, still too busy scribbling with eir giant pencil, simply changed from eir brother's arms to his face. Vencoalt did not make a move to stop him.

(…)

Duncan's visits to kaiju territory have not been that many, because he only comes one weekend every month. Still, he can say with no doubt that today something has changed. If he has learned anything about his father in his interactions with him, it is that that man likes structure.

Mr. Go will pick him up on Saturday morning and the moment they step foot into kaiju territory Belloc is already waiting for them. He is then carried to "his room" where he is expected to get ready for a whole day of wandering around with Tarangas —Belloc or Vencoatl following after them like shadows, but mainly letting them do whatever they feel like, only making sure his youngest sibling doesn't try to climb something ey should not—, or having lessons with Terlus until night arrives and Belloc is free of his "royal duties" and comes to spend time with him until he is told to go to sleep. And Sunday is exactly the same, except that later in the afternoon he is taken back to where Mr. Go is waiting for him.

Today, though, Belloc is not the one waiting for him, on all fours, eyes stuck on the approaching car.

Terlus is sitting down, eyes scouting the surrounding area, as if nervous or uncomfortable. Or worried. Duncan is not even out of the car yet and he can feel his sibling's eyes on him.

Mr. Go doesn't look too concerned with the change, though.

"Terlus." Mr. Go greets ver with an easygoing smile, and Terlus dips ver head in acknowledgment. Ve turns toward him.

"Good morning, Duncan." Terlus greets him and lays a hand, palm up, on the ground in front of him. "Father is attending to some important matters and could not come to receive you." He nods, bidding his goodbyes to Mr. Go, who looks at Terlus for a second before he thinks he hears a snort coming out of him. Duncan thinks it's because it is incredibly obvious that Terlus is lying.

Ve couldn't hide it even if ver life depended on it; ve is unable to look him in the eyes and ver free hand is tapping ver claws on ver leg. Duncan just doesn't really know why ve would feel the need to do that.

Has their father forgotten it's his weekend with them? No, that sounds unlikely; Belloc doesn't look like the type of man to forget about these kinds of things. Has something happened, maybe? He hopes not. The last few months his visits have been peaceful and lacked any attempts on his life, he would like it to stay that way, thank you very much.

He doesn't ask Terlus, though, because he can feel the tension of ver muscles through the palm of ver hand, and he has the feeling that, if he comments on something, ve will have an aneurism.

Also, the rest of the morning is pretty normal. He is taken to his room, where he is told that their father expects him to go over the language books —he is proud to say he is getting better by the day at kaiju speak, almost as if his brain finds it natural to absorb his kaiju family's mother tongue. Belloc had looked very pleased when in his last visit he had been able to communicate with Tarangas almost completely without the use of English—.

It's two hours after settling down when things start to go downhill.

(…)

Vencoatl is the oldest. Has been for a good while, which means that he has been tasked with taking care of his younger siblings on more than one occasion since he reached adulthood. He is fine with that, honestly. Their sire has never been one to neglect his children's care, him included, so his role as the oldest brother has always remained just like that: the oldest brother. That doesn't mean, though, that Belloc is perfect.

Vencoatl loves their father, he does, really, but sometimes… sometimes he just feels like five —they are six, but Duncan has been raised solely by his mother— children and a thousand years on this earth have taught him nothing.

He can see him from his perch on a hill, trying to conceal himself in between the sea of high grass and the shade of a few trees; he is usually pretty proud of his size, inherited from his mother, but sometimes he wishes his form was easier to hide and miss. He is risking a lot by coming out into the open, and the tension on his shoulders and legs, ready to bolt at the first sign of calamity is proof of that.

Belloc hasn't noticed him yet, and Vencoatl prays it stays like that. He is down in the valley, walking around a pond he has apparently claimed as his, and looking around as if trying to find something while emitting whine-like rumbles. Still, he doesn't move, and that is the only reason Vencoatl dares to get closer to get a better look. Father's eyesight is not as good as it used to anymore, but his nose is as sharp as it was when Vencoatl himself was a whelp. The wind is on his side right now, so Belloc is likely to be able to sense somebody looking at him, but he can't tell where the smell is coming from. His lack of aggressive movements tells him that his sire knows he is there, somewhere, and is getting impatient because he is not listening to his calls and coming to him.

He crawls back, careful not to make too much noise, and hides in the trees' shadows. Father's patience is not infinite, and right now it's hanging by a thread. It won't be too long before he abandons his newfound post and wanders inside the tunnels; it will be too late by then, though. They need to act now.

He smells Terlus before ve stops next to him, and the way ve uses him as a shield to the imminent threat their father poses doesn't go unnoticed. He doesn't blame ver. In matters like this, survival of the smartest is the only way. He, also, smells something else. The key to salvation. The sacrifice.

"Everything is ready, brother." Terlus is not looking at him, but ahead, where Belloc is still rumbling and calling for them, and he is growing impatient by the moment. It is time. "Are you sure about this?" His sibling looks at him now, eyes sharp but with a certain shame for what they are about to do showing through them.

He is not, but what other choice do they have? —tons, actually—.

"Bring him here. This has to end now."

Terlus looks at him one last time before leaving, disappearing inside the tunnels, and he sights.

(…)

Terlus has told him the name of the damn plant on numerous occasions, and still he is unable to remember it. It doesn't really matter, though, because if he just so much as describes its color, everybody knows what he is talking about. Everyone he knows has either been under the effects of that curse and/or suffered the consequences of it, and apparently, his family was going for the record —well, his father was. His siblings and himself just suffered through it—.

The lichen grows everywhere. Bark, rock, cave or mountain peak; humid or freezing, desertic or flooding. That thing is immortal and impossible to escape. It also doesn't have a scent, so not even their noses, capable of catching a drop of blood more than six miles away, can detect it. Oh, and let's not forget the color. Or lack of it; capable of mimicking the surface it grows on, one is not able to spot it unless consciously looking for it; and only fools seek the fruit of the damned.

The materialization of evil. A meager plant that, just with a small touch, explodes into thousands of spores that attach to your skin and lungs and don't let go until eliminated by oneself or they perish on their own —eight to ten hours later, when it's too late and the actions and consequences can not be erased—.

And Belloc's eyes are tired through age and time and use, and sometimes patrol routes change, and a tree or a rock that's too small is out of sight and just… things happen. And now their father has chased away any soul who dares to come near his new pond —merely twice his size, useless for anything much except allowing children to play and learn how to swim—, and is calling for them to come to him, to get closer, I'm not going to hurt you.

Vencoatl made that mistake once and that was enough, thank you very much.

Some kaiju get aggressive, some get paranoid, some get random spurts of energy, and some just lay down and sleep it off. Belloc gets all of them, at the same time and one by one, simultaneously. The first and last time he was naive enough to answer to his sire's call he ended up trapped under his weight, immobilized against the ground until Belloc considered that their nap had been satisfactory enough —he had been way younger and smaller then, enough for Belloc to drag him around by the scruff as if he wasn't already almost as big as him. A part of him, the childish one, feared the old kaiju would still be able to do that—.

And if it wasn't sleeping it was trailing behind them like a shadow, as if forgetting his children were already capable adults, not needing to be followed around and pushed and prodded like newborn whelps learning to walk. Or maybe it was picking up a fight with anybody who didn't share his blood and looked his way, because Belloc apparently forgets that he is not as young as he used to —hasn't been for a while, but nobody dares to say that outloud— and that three against one is not a good idea anymore. And there was also the grooming, until their scales started to resent the barbed tongue, convinced there was invisible dirt that needed to be eliminated.

Malevolus was the unlucky one to be caught last time, dragged by the head kicking and screaming obscenities —if he'd seen Crocada push him toward their father to save her own skin, that wasn't Vencoatl's problem— knowing Belloc was too preoccupied with the state of his appearance to comment on their choice of language.

Tarangas, sweet innocent Tarangas, was the only one, as of today, who remained in the dark. They would usually sacrifice the youngest —or the easiest to physically overpower— to their father's deranged moments, but their youngest sibling was too young to fully comprehend what was happening, and nobody wanted to find out what would happen if Tarangas were to start crying —even when not under the lichen's effects, Belloc had always been easy prey to his children's cries, and in his old age that hadn't really changed much. If anything, it had gotten worse—.

And Malevolus is not exactly on speaking terms with Belloc, and Crocada is impossible to find unless she lets them —something she won't do; she is not stupid—, and Vencoatl refuses to be left alone with no other responsible adult to try and manage this crisis, therefore Terlus is not an option either.

Duncan is the only viable answer to their prayers, and Vencoatl feels terrible for it —and still there he is, lying to the whelp and telling him Belloc is waiting for him for a lesson and carrying him to his doom—. Shaba has already taken Tarangas out to play to the other side of the territory, because even she refuses to deal with her own husband in this state —"I have so many things to do, Vencoatl," which is a big fat lie "I can't afford to waste the whole day like this."—. The main nest chamber is completely empty except for the rabid kaiju trying to find his half human child —Terlus has stolen a piece of clothing from the boy and used it to lure him inside the main sleeping quarters, and bolted after throwing it inside and letting Belloc pace around the room sniffing and whining—, and Vencoatl is about to abandon the boy to his doom —that's not true, if anything their sire will get a bit intense with his affection and maybe even oversensitive, but still—.

He has to be fast, swift, precise, because if he is too slow Belloc may decide only one child is not enough, and then Vencoatl will have no choice but to surrender and let the old kaiju win —he doesn't want to remember what happened the last time one of them tried to run away from him. It's just… no —. So when he gets closer to the entrance to the nest room, he stops. He can hear the frantic steps from the inside, just out of sight, and feels Duncan shift his weight on his shoulder and jump to the ground, probably still unsuspecting, innocent and naive to the next eight to ten hours of torture he is going to go through.

Vencoatl really, really feels bad for the kid —not bad enough to backtrack, though—.

The boy stays next to him, and when he sees the cautious expression on his face, Vencoatl knows if he doesn't act now, the child will catch up to what is happening. They can both hear the rumbling getting more aggressive by the moment, and Duncan is smart enough to try and hide behind his arm. Oh, Vencoatl feels like a monster right now.

Before Duncan can utter a word and blow away their position, Vencoatl reaches with his hand, gathers the boy as gently as possible, as carefully as he can, and tosses him into the chamber. Duncan yells in surprise and fear, and Vencoatl has already left by the time he falls to the ground.

Vencoatl would make it up to him, honest to the Fallen. Later. Tomorrow. Probably.