Rubbing his temples, a certain drowsiness slowly faded from the young man's eyes as he sat upright before a small bonfire, regaining his composure, leaning on a hard, chitinous substance covered with a few white lines creating a square pattern, a blue liquid flowing down where the white lines met.
The drowsiness and confusion of sleep slowly disappeared; they were replaced by a somber, hollow, and, most of all, a lost emptiness of expression.
A large scar marred his face, having healed just barely, the newly formed skin not covering the exposed flesh in its entirety, with the scar gracing the cummers of his lips, creating an image of an extended smile, sown shut, and held in place by mere stitches.
The boy sitting before a bonfire, not much older than 18 or 19, wearing the air of an individual far too tired and experienced for his age, covered in dark rages, barely held together.
Shaking his head, an emotion of annoyance and self-deprecation rose from within, as remnants of his past flew by his vision, fragmented and broken, but still there, resisting his attempt at suppression.
"Was I always this weak-willed, not even able to crame a few unwanted thoughts away?"
Perplexed by his own words, a bit delirious and sleep deprived, the two dark pupils, a lightless abyss, underlined by two fitting shadows clinging to them, the fire of desire, fully extinguished, not letting a singular ember escape. A self-deprecating laugh escaped his scared lips as he mused.
"Ha ha—Such pointless thoughts... and emotions. What had made me ever think such foolish things? A better life? No, that is a fool's errand; there is no such thing destined for my future."
Stretching out his right hand to take a skewer, he had placed nearest to him, resting beside it, two more of its kind. On the skewers were pieces of long, blue tendons, resembling muscle fiber, now a bit burned, resting above the fire.
Not looking at the blue meat for long, his appetite had been weak from the beginning, and the flesh had been quite unappetizing to look at, in the light luster of the waning flame, the mountain of white threads that worked as kindling slowly burned up.
A strand of white, long, dirty hair fell between his mouth that had been so terribly scarred and the food; he tucked it behind his ear as he took a bite of the still-sizzling meat, slightly burning his mouth as he chewed, not reacting to the pain, merely chewing the sustenance numbly.
His hair was raven black, with a silver-white streak over the left eye, unkempt and growing out, creating a savage, rough image.
His expression, crunching up, disgust for the barely edible food showing clearly. Laughing once more, this time more forced and louder, his eyebags grew by the second, clearly not having slept well in a while.
"Ha ha ha, I have grown too used to luxury, I believe. Dont you agree?"The barely illuminated cave did not respond, and there seemed to be no one in the large space that could; he was alone.
Not getting a response, his emotionless smile did not fade, having expected no other outcome.
"Suit yourself then."
As his eyes drifted to the side, the black head of a chitinous creature emerged in his field of view, weakly illuminated by the flames. Well, the nearest part of its body did, the creature encompassing large parts of the cave.
At its head, two ginormous, sharp pincers were placed, between them a small mouth that grew outward; a tens-of-meters-long body revealed itself, built of multiple segments, each with two legs attached, coiling around most of the camp.
As a whole, the creature was a giant centipede, its head serving as a rest for the young man. The body was covered in countless lacerations, thread-thin flesh wounds, so countless that the once gleaming exoskeleton of the creature was now cracked with blue blood running across its once pristine black armor like chitin, its last breaths having been taken because of these wounds.
At a segment of its enormous body, not too far away, a greater and deeper wound had been formed, a big piece of flesh having been cut out at the spot, and a white cup, seemingly made out of a white thread-like substance, sitting below the grusome wound, catching the stream of thick, blue blood.
Having finished the "food", he walked over to the cup filled with blood. Staring at it for a few moments, a barely audible sigh escaped his lips, before he gulped down the liquid, disgust written all over his face.
"Gulp"
"Gulp"
"Gulp ahhhh"
Feeling the bittersweet taste linger on his tongue as the thick liquid ran down his throat, he crouched down, returning the cup to its original position and letting the dark blue liquid flow into it once more, slowly filling it.
Sitting back down, once more leaning back onto the Centepids ' lifeless head, pain of not fully healed wounds flaring up across his entire body as he let himself fall back, no longer resisting gravity.
"Thump"
Looking down at his right arm, where the most grueling of pains was coming from, he pulled back a hastily made bandage, a deep cut, severing the bone partially, held together by multiple thin threads almost unnoticeable to the eye, seemingly pulling the flesh and bone towards each other in an attempt to mend the wound, that was far too large to be healed by such meager support.
This would leave a deep scar, adding to his already rugged appearance.
Pulling back the bandage made out of some kind of leathery pelt stitched together by thin white threads, similar to the rest of his clothes.
"Grooowl"
He felt a pang of hunger tingling in his insides. His stomach protested, the sound reverberating through the cave.
He had eaten more than a human would have needed to, and still he felt hunger; this hunger came from deep within and could not be satisfied by simple food; he needed something more, something that fitted his nature.
The young man, Shackley, stood up once more, kicking out the fire with a resigned expression.
Walking to the wall of the cave, he grabbed a thick string strung along the cave's edge. Unnoticeable to the eye, threads extended from his fingers and connected to the rest of the thickly woven string connecting him to the greater tapestry, wrapping it around his hand twice.
While regretting that he could not solve the problem called his appetite, he pulled himself upward along the white string, illuminated only by the smoldering ashes. No, he did not pull it; it would be more precise to say that, the moment he grabbed the string connecting it to his own threads, it started pulling him upward, making the perilous adventure far easier, manageable even for someone as heavily injured as he was.
There, above an intricately designed web, was built, held in place by the cave's walls. Now, sitting on a thick thread, not the smallest problem to hold his balance, below lying the corpse of the giant centipede, the man slowly stood up, reaching for a big cocoon that had been hanging from the ceiling for a while, connected by multiple thick and thin white threads, holding it in place.
It was the size of a man, or to be precise, it was fitted perfectly for this man, as if tailor-made solely for him. Taking a large step forward, before letting himself be embraced by the silky, nurturing, and most of all comfortable inside the cocoon. Feeling exausted the man named Noctis started sewing the only entrance into the cocoon shut, the remnants of the cindeling's light no longer able to penetrate the cocoon's outer layer.
Exhaustion showed as Noctis' eyes grew heavier by the moment, a soul wish not having to remember tugging at the back of his mind, eyes no longer resisting closing and shutting tight.
Instead of the comforting darkness, he was met, however, with a golden thread before his mind's eye, slowly expanding, pulling at his very being, his very instincts trying to convince him to give in to that exilerating sensation, only dampened by the cold logic of his mind fighting against his desires, losing ground little by little, day by day.