Burnt Light

[carduinal-cyn]

((Raymond LaSalle continued from Pale Rider.))

Distant screams. Angry men. Yelling. Raymond couldn't care less. His body was melted. Bloated. His eyes were heavy. He hadn't slept. Three days? Four days? Too many nightmares. Always. Sayuna's face. The owl mask. The fingers. Prodding his skull. It kept him awake. Wide awake. He oozed closer. No more hiding. No more stealth. He'd meet them either way.

Crispin.

Alan.

Bullies.

Ruffians.

Breakfast.

[Catche Jagger]

Alan felt himself finally relax at Crispin’s response. It wasn’t ideal, but at least Crispin seemed to accept the situation at hand, that Alan was sticking with him and wasn’t gonna twist a knife in his back just yet.

“Alright, good. Well, I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not hang out with corpses if we can help it. So let’s- aw fuck.” Alan began to explain as he turned around, only to see a new form in the doorway. Form, not because he couldn’t tell who it was, but because it would be generous to call its shape human.

Ray, like Crispin, was among the few that the announcements had declared to have killed multiple times. Unlike Crispin, Ray had exclusively killed people Alan knew to inhabit the same social circle as him, his own friends. One of them had been Austin.

“Hey, Ray. We know plenty of what you did and we ain’t your pals, so how about you back the fuck off?” There wasn’t much point to trying to appeal to some sense of decency or mercy or some shit. It was unlikely the slug-looking thing before them was particularly concerned with such matters. Still, practicality was always worth a shot.

“How about this? The furries ain’t said shit, but I know for a fact that somebody got out and they’re gonna get us help. That means nobody’s gotta kill anybody, we can all live.” Alan began, holding his arms out to his sides in a disarming gesture, before narrowing his gaze.

“But if you’re gonna keep coming, I assure you that it makes no fucking difference to me if your guts get ripped out and you’re ground down into a slimy paste.”

[ItzToxie]

Crispin watched the form slink it’s way through the dirty doorway towards the two. Of all the people to break up this beautiful reunion. “Okay…” He repeated once more towards the newcomer, towards Ray. He couldn’t help but laugh. Alan probably thought he was crazy, but he didn’t know the half of it.

Even if there was a peaceful outcome to this shit, people didn’t want it to happen. Everyone he’d met had been proof of that. Only good outcome was him dying, in their eyes he wasn’t worth shit. He knew Ray wasn’t gonna be any different. He knew that look. Stupid bitch was gonna get himself wasted. Gonna get revenge on his bullies or some shit, then give Crispy puppy dog eyes when that shit gets shut down. Punk ass ugly ass bitches all the same.

A few days ago, Crispy would’ve cracked a joke at Raymond’s expense, something like ‘choon dogga wanna wanna Solo, oh oh oh’ or some other form of speaking in Raymond the Hutt’s language. ‘Get the fuck outta here or I’ll jiggle your mantits’ or something along those lines. Raymond was a killer though, one who’d killed his own friends at that. Instead of cracking a joke, he cracked his knuckles and let Alan do the talking.

Part of Crispy wondered if Ray was in the same situation he was, he wasted Austin, couldn’t be all bad after all, but again, everyone he’d killed was his friends. The fact that Alan basically said up front that Crispy would rip this fat bitch apart at least sold him that they were on the same page.

“Ain’t gonna start shit…” he repeated besides Alan. Old boy knew the rest by now. Everything that happened from here on was Ray’s choice.

[carduinal-cyn]

The meatheads rambled. Prattled. An obvious lie, and a death threat.

What was the point of the lie?

Were they trying to fill Ray with false hope, so they could tear him apart anyway? Crispin had all the kills in the world under his belt. The world — or at least the furries — wouldn't stop calling his name. Ray knew what he'd do. Alan said it outright. Rip his guts out. Grind him down into a slimy paste. Even if he turned tail and ran, even if escape were possible, Raymond LaSalle reasoned that he was nothing but a murderer. There was no future left for him. All his friends were dead, by his own hand. His name was like poison. His chances with Lily were basically zero. No grades left to receive. No teachers left to impress. No art to paint. No colorful little rocks to collect.

"...You know what they say about a man with nothin' to lose," he mumbled.

The words spilled from his dripping mouth; he was unsure whether they were meant for himself or Squirrel Boy and his goon. Either way, he didn't care. This was the Wild West. It'd only take him a moment to slurp these protozoans up.

[Catche Jagger]

“Well, you’ve still got your life. I mean, such as it is.”

But Alan could tell that Ray wasn’t going to take the offer and leave. He’d bought into whatever bullshit got him through killing his friends and wasn’t going to step off, even if it was a risk he didn’t need to take. Alan wasn’t exactly shocked or mournful at the reveal, but it did mean they’d be in for a fight.

“Whatever. Ain’t gonna beg.” He groaned, giving Crispin a look stepping back and to the side to give him some space for what was likely to come next.

[ItzToxie]

He knew how this was gonna go the second Ray showed up. He was so, so tired of dealing with all this same shit different day trash, like he ain’t heard this shit before, like they were the ones getting cornered by him. Stupid fuckers, he wasn’t even going to pretend like their lives mattered anymore, like he was reluctant to do this shit. Bitches wanna die so fucking badly, be my guest…

Alan stepped out of the way for him, he knew what was gonna happen. Crispy stepped forward. He glanced at Alan; “See the type of shit I been dealing with the last few days?” Then turned back to Ray.

Crispin glanced up and down at the slug creature. Bunch of meat about to be dead meat, slow ass bitch wouldn’t know what hit him. ‘Man with nothing to lose’ Crispin guffawed. “Ha~Haaaa! Dawg if you wanna die so bad just flush yourself down the toilet you boneless ass Peter Griffin lookin’ ass! Go eat yourself like Pac-Man or some shiet, waste my fucking time ripping your stupid ass in half!”

Too fucking slow. Ray was dangerous to the likes of the harmless. He got Austin and Noah, and that shit was supposed to be impressive? Two biggest pussies of the school, and Sayuna? Wow, really punching up in the world, huh? The audacity to think they’d be like Crispy in a fight. This shit right here, this shit was funny.

“You fucking serious dude?” Still, Raymond fucking melted people. Wasn’t like lanklet ass Kaine or Andrew. If this fat fuck got a hold of him, Crispy knew he was in a world of hurt. He got a good look at Ray’s eyes. His grin left. “Yeah, you’re serious, aren’t you?” What’s the worst that could happen? Couldn’t get any uglier, bitch Mercy already left him looking like some Creepypasta photoshop.

“Aite, bet.”

He raised his arms in front of him, boxing position, and drew a line in the ground in front of him with the toe of his Nike. A shiver went up his tail. Felt wrong to admit it, but he was starting to enjoy this shit. Stupid bastards would be laughing if the shoe was on the other foot, why couldn’t he? It was fun for Austin and Kaine until it wasn’t. Fun for Mercy. Fun for Raymond here. This place fucked up a lot more than his face. Crispy knew it, Alan thought he knew it, but he was only just about to really see it.

“Well come on, Jabba! You wanna die so bad, right? Say when!”

[carduinal-cyn]

Was that supposed to be an insult?

Raymond felt a powerful disappointment in his soul. Boneless-ass Peter Griffin-lookin' ass. How very eloquent. Leave it to Crispin Cuyler to cite the lowest common denominator of all animation and think it'd bother him. Two could play at this game. "Like I'd listen to a twelve-ounce mouse," he retorted. Crispin was too much a thug to understand that one, of course, but it was worth a shot.

Try as he might, the guilt had been eating away at Raymond for three days straight. He knew, on some deep, instinctive level, that Sayuna and Noah and Austin didn't have to die. But these two? He was as disgusted with Crispin's half-burned face as he was with his white-gangsta, swaggering attitude. Alan was little more than a stooge; he'd go down nicely as a chaser after so much rotten squirrel-meat.

Without another word, his right arm morphed into a rubbery tendril of slime and lashed towards the threat.

[ItzToxie]

Gave 'em a chance. 'Hey just fucking walk away.' 'No, I wanna kill.' 'You're going to die, stoopid.' 'No, I wanna kill!'

And then they die.

With Alan's gift coursing through Crispy's veins he saw Ray's bullshit tentacle coming from a mile away, he tucked and ran juking under the tentacle and to the left as he charged. Even with that advantage, Ray was somewhat fast, full of energy of all his friends he ate, the nasty bitch.

He wanted to get close and finish this fast, but with this sick fuck all hopped up there'd be too much risk, one wrong move and that's it, dissolved like sugar in coffee. He wasn't going out like that, not when there was a chance to go home, a chance just to live out of spite to the other fuckheads that tried to tear him down and got torn down instead.

I'm still here.

He pushed to the left and wall ran, kicking off and flying over Ray to land behind him.

[carduinal-cyn]

Stupid body, Ray thought to himself. So slow and useless...

All the ballroom dancing lessons in the world were moot when you had pseudopods for legs — better that than being full-on nude, after all. But Ray's sucker punch was ducked and dodged in an instant, the Agent Smith to Crispin's Neo. Aggravating in the extreme.

The blob boy's fat neck swivelled around and twisted itself into a spiral. Hissing, he swiped with his other hand. He'd seen something like this in a video game before: the evil spirit of a mask, arms like twin whips as it screeched at a hero clad in green. And whip he did.

If Crispin dodged this one, well, that'd really be the kiss of death.

[ItzToxie]

Crispin skidded along the ground to a stop, crouching low to his hands and feet as he glanced up. Yeah, this probably wasn't going to work. Fucking Slither movie ass over here with all his tentacles and shit could just twist in place and flail around. Fucker probably thought he was untouchable, hell, maybe he was if Crispin was some slow ass shit with some weak ass Gift. Enhanced reactions watched the tentacles raise; he'd eyeball where they were going to land when they started flailing.

If he wanted to get close, he'd just have to eat the hit and-


No that's fucking stupid, he's forgetting his power.

Crispy is Fast. Sure, some of it is strength, but most of it is speed, momentum. No point in charging now, not when he could wear this fat fuck out. The tentacles stroke where Crispy was last at as he backpedaled out of their attack range. Keep out of range, keep dancing, keep moving, he'll tire, and then he could close in.

"Come the fuck on, sludge-sucker! I'm a gawdamn squirrel dawg, ain't you supposed to be some sort of apex predator?!" He slapped his own ass for emphasis, flicking his tail at Jabba.

"Fucking hit me, bitch!"

[carduinal-cyn]

Raymond didn't know what was worse: Crispin's taunting, or his ignorance of how biology worked. Gifted or not, they were both technically human — the words apex predator held no meaning. Ray's eyes flickered with disdain; his skin bubbled and broiled like pancake batter. Crispin was nothing. A violent little sack of shit who was destined to go nowhere in life. But here he was, bobbing and weaving and hollering like a '90s cartoon mascot.

Crispin just wouldn't shut up. Now he was smacking his own rear. It quaked a little. How juvenile. Raymond quirked an eyebrow at the squirrel-boy's strange little outburst. He found it more confusing than offensive, really — they were supposed to be fighting, after all, not twerking. It may have worked on some confused theatre kids, but Raymond was an intellectual. There were many people he would've wanted to see perform such a gesture. Crispin was not one of them.

The blob raced for Crispin, long, melted tendrils outstretched and flailing wildly.

[ItzToxie]

Yeah, he got Ray mad, bastard was bubbling and boiling, like he was gonna do something. Like he could do something. Crispy wasn’t anyone like Ray had dealt with. Sayuna died too early to see it coming, even if Austin wasn’t all fucked up from trying his shit on Crispy, he’s still a little bitch, and Noah? Probably curled into a ball and begged this thing to go away. Ray was weak. He ain’t dealt with someone who can fight back, and Crispy wanted to show him just how out of his league he really was.

“Getting a little heated there fatboy?!” He dodged a tentacle.

Of course he was going to do this because a tired opponent was easier and Crispy didn’t need NEW burns to go over his old ones. What makes Muhammad Ali and Mike Tyson such great fighters isn’t how hard they punch, it’s all in the foot work, it’s how they dance around their enemies before going in for the kill. That was precisely how he was gonna waste Ray, but he was going to play around with this, he was in his element, his natural zen. This was his terrarium, his climate, his hood, and Ray didn’t belong.

And so he taunted, hopping, jumping, kicking, and skipping, backpedaling his way through the hall, letting this bastard flail, letting him over reach, letting the realization form that he was way out of his goddamn place and the last thing he’d feel is Crispin putting him back into it.

“Come on bitch! Want me to stop and get on my knees, beg for my life?! That’s how you got the other ones right? I ain’t even started swinging yet, dawg, gotta do better than that!”

[carduinal-cyn]

Nothing was working.

Crispin was so slippery, it was almost impressive. The way he dodged and quipped, it was like a plot: let Jabba the Hutt punch himself out, and he'll be so tired that he can't even maintain this disgusting shape. And he wasn't wrong. Ray was exhausted — physically, emotionally, mentally. But he wasn't stupid. The last thing he'd do was give Crispin what he wanted.

And so, he began to formulate a cunning plan.

Against Crispin's expectations, Raymond's tendrils of goop retracted. His eyes closed, his expression pensive. He stood there, stock-still, for a good thirty seconds. Then, the hateful, beady brown flecks opened again. He flashed an insufferable smirk that dripped at one side. "Are you just gonna do gymnastics all day, Crispy?" he sneered. "I thought you said I was gonna die. Of boredom, maybe — I don't even need to throw one punch to eat you alive."

"So, come on. Do it. No balls."

[ItzToxie]

This motherfu-

Crispin skidded to a halt, hopping in place to keep limber. Did this thing just-

Crispin's eye lid twitched. Yeah, there's a lot of things he should be more angry about than bringing up that, including a visibly obvious one, but this motherfucker, THIS MOTHERFUCKER-

...


"I'm gonna feed you your's, you dumb sum-bitch."



He eyed up Ray. He was faster, he could close the distance, he could pull this fucker apart before he got the chance to try and wrap him up. He was stronger. Crispy leaned forward on his toes, and dropped, dead sprinting towards Ray. He crouched down and ran in all fours to pick up speed, using his legs to push him forwards as he jumped and brought his arm back. He willed himself to punch through that bitch; and hell, when he did, he didn't think it'd be that easy.

He caught a glimpse of his arm, slick with Ray poking through the other side of his body. He pulled it back through, prepping his next arm before the bastard could blink.

Crispy hissed as his arm was caught. He glanced at his hand, barbed wire wrapped tight, tighter than it had ever been, a cord of it still lodged in Ray. The wires wrapped tighter as he grasped and tried to pull himself free.

[carduinal-cyn]

That really worked?

Crispin ran at him. His dumbfounded brain barely had time to process the squirrel-boy's reaction before the fist punched clean through his body.

Raymond didn't think it was possible to feel pain like this. The entire upper part of his torso radiated a wet, suppurating fire. He could feel his innards retreating from the wound, and blood welled around the entry and exit. Iron spikes threatened one of his very lungs: when he took a hyperventilating breath in, they pierced its surface. His whole body shuddered. He let out a rough, hacking cough. His mind raced — he knew it was possible to survive, he needed to, he would feast on Crispin's fucking bones, it's the least he deserved for an injury like this...!

The arm jerked and jerked, drawing more blood. God, he was only making this more painful, Ray thought. If he's going to kill me, just get it over with!

Half-delirious, Ray began to realize Crispin was stuck.

An opening!

He raised his dripping pseudopod and gripped his attacker's face as hard as his melting limbs could muster.

His hand tasted burnt flesh.

At least he'd be getting to the real meat soon...