graphic gore ★ genderfluid ★ three-eyed crow

A murder of crows perched among the wasteland, posed on the rubble, and all avoided the hybrid. All save one, the boldest off them all, and the one to lead the murder so deep into Pitt territory.

The three-eyed crow’s beak pointed at Dante. Those red eyes, devoid of pupils, stared at everything and nothing. The black blight, unblinking, stared at the hybrid for a long moment. The moment dragged on, cumbersome and unwieldy, like a body dragged in the dirt, carried along by nothing more than stubbornness. Or self-hatred?

CAW! Vale’s feathers ruffled. Ve leaned forward, then back, and glanced at the crows flying above, torn between joining their flight or joining Dante below.

Recklessly, Vale decided by flinging verself at Dante. Attempting to snatch the cig from his mouth, the little bird zipped past him as nothing more than a blur.

Circling in a tight loop, Vale titled vis head one way, then the other, as ve reconsidered. But to fall back now would be a coward’s choice; the decision to steal came with its own consequences, because engaging only to flee created a precedent. An emotional line in the mind which future Vale will remember long after the event itself ended and faded from vis memory.

Landing in the ruins, Vale clawed vis way onto a jagged piece of stone.

CAW! CAW! CAW! the murder shrieked. They never understood their strange companion, the cleverest of them all but the most foolish by far.

Vale’s three eyes bored into Dante’s again. CAW! Vale called.

Wordless. How long had it been since Vale last spoke? How long since Vale’s mind thought in words, instead of snatches of images and emotions? How long since Vale remembered vis own name?

CAW! Louder. Insistent. As if Vale wasn’t trying to reach Dante at all, but the pieces of verself lost to time.

graphic gore ★ genderfluid ★ three-eyed crow

Vale dropped the cig and hopped on vis feet. “Little bastard!” Vale repeated, mimicking Dante’s intonation.

“Lunch?” Vale repeated, tilting vis head. “Lunch! Lunch! Lunch!”

Expectantly, the crow eyed Dante, one eye blinking at a time. Vale remembered good times—drugs, food, violence—with this one’s face, but the name escaped ver. After all, vis own name escaped ver. Couldn’t expect to remember the importance of anyone if you’ve forgotten yourself, hm?

“Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeed!” Vale shrieked, holding one long note, and cut verself off with a little hop. “Weed! Lunch! Munchies, munchies, munchies….”

graphic gore ★ genderfluid ★ 3 eyed crow

“Vale?” The crow titled vis head, left then right, right then left, and tapped vis beak with a claw. “Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.”

Twisting the word this way and that, dissecting it into its base pieces, the little crow decided to pocket the interesting syllable. Emotions and feelings rippled. Not unpleasant; perhaps enough time passed to allow the memories to become faded enough to look at without being blinded by the horribleness. But then the crow imagined a snippet of Brymstone, and the crow shook verself off—physically, like shaking off water—and slipped back into present mindlessness.

“Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore….” Vale trailed off. This was already the longest thought ve’d strung together in a long sort, but it failed to answer the hybrid’s question, didn’t it? “Who is forgotten, Vale or the lore?”

Leaping off vis perch, the crow fluttered down to Dante. Ve thought it unlikely the shark-cat would eat ver. Even so, there were plenty of other creatures—the crows, Dante himself—to hitch vis consciousness on, if this flesh suit died.

“Journeying. Searching. Questing. Everyone wanting something, always…” the crow shushed verself. Looking up at Dante, all three eyes staring into the hybrid’s face, ve continued. “A trade? A gift. What is a name but memories strung together to form a line of consciousness? Begin from the name. Ends when the rain washes the engraving away, the grave smooth as a river stone.”

The little crow attempted to tap vis beak at Dante’s paw. Not sharply, mind you, not an attack but a story.

The catalyst. The false climax. The lowest point. The solution. The true climax.

The crow waited. Then ve spoke, repeating vis earlier phrase, more sorrowful than the last. “Who is forgotten, Vale or the lore?”

graphic gore ★ genderfluid ★ crow shapeshifting to jaguar

“Not forgotten by you.” The crow chittered, about to continue, but paused. Was ve telling Dante or verself? Both. The answer to such a question, whenever you stopped to ask, was always both.

As Dante continued, the crow laughed. Yes. Enjoying goopy marshmallows and destroying obsidian pyramids… these things were Vale. So, too, was talking about consciousness to a so-high-he-could-die Dante. Or a sober Dante, though the hybrid rarely engaged as well without facilitating drugs.

“Dante remembers! Hahaha, memory smudges the lore, but the name endures. What is a mind untouched by time?” The little crow cackled, louder and louder, and hopped one step backwards. “Easy to remember, easy to forget. Time plays tricks on the mind, but who is to say time isn’t a construct of the mind?”

A long grey tongue flicked out of the crow’s beak. Black sludge dripped out of vis three eyes like viscous tears, and the tongue licked each one by one, but the sludge drip-dripped. Too fast to keep up! But the familiar taste of not-blood was Vale.

The crow could not pretend anymore. Ve had wanted to forget, if only for a short time, but Vale could no less deny vis nature than Dante could deny his.

Spreading vis wings, the crow’s limbs lengthened and the joints snapped! and popped! to keep up with the anatomical changes. The wings migrated down vis back. A new set of limbs erupted out of the black sludge, all grey flesh and primordial ooze, until greyscale fur hid the gore from view.

CAW! CAW! CAW! The murder of crows shrieked. When their boldest one wielded vis magic, it usually signified a feast.

But the melanistic jaguar blinking at Dante had no intention of eating him. Two red eyes, not three, stared at the hybrid.

Ve smirked around a set of shark teeth, arranged in a close replica to Dante’s own. “Forgive me for my dramatics.” The feather wings flicked black sludge off, showering the ground, and then settled tightly against Vale’s body.

“I was not planning on remembering myself for a long, long time.” The toothy smirk widened. “But I am not upset at this outcome.”

graphic gore ★ genderfluid ★ mutated jaguar

“I am not dramatic. I am theatrical.” Vale smirked around a mouthful of fangs. Vis grey tongue flicked out of a gap, and the white teeth smoothly slid into place in a mirror image of Dante’s likeness, crookedness and all. “Good to see you, too, my friend.”

Vale headbutted Dante’s shoulder. Friendly and affectionate, yes, but also an easy way to hide the frown on vis maw. “Would rather not… talk about it.”

The jaguar sighed dramatically, rolling vis red eyes and lightly smacking vis muzzle, as if to stop vis eyes from rolling. “I fell in love–hahaha, can you imagine?–me, in love? You’d think I would’ve learned. I’m too much of a monster for even another monster to love, eh? Should’ve guessed.” Vale grimaced and bit vis tongue to cut verself off.

“You got weed? The sudden reawakening to the horrors of existence always hurts without a buffer. Hahaha!” Well, Vale wasn’t lying about this, but this wasn’t the brain wound itching to reopen. “I’m not joking, though.”