His shoulder burned; he ignored it, ignored the phantoms roaring behind his dead eye, concentrated only one planting one foot ahead of the other, following the Professor back out of this hell.
He managed maybe a half-dozen steps before stopping.
It was as if he could feel those dead eyes boring into his back. But no voice; not yet.
Not yet.
The Professor was turning, glancing back over one shoulder questioningly. Dimitri shook his head, turning to look back, himself --
I won't risk it.
One step back towards Edelgard's cooling corpse. Another. He ignored the wordless protest behind him, then shook off the Professor's grip like a horse shivering away a fly.
I can't … risk her coming back as more than a voice, either.
Terrible? Yes, these were terrible thoughts. But was he not a monster already? A beast? Five years and counting of survival proved him so, if nothing else, and those skills -- his very life -- were hard-won and precious, put to use saving his people. And if the beast could end a greater monster forever, so be it.
Besides, came the coiling, almost wistful thought; besides, this would be something of a gift. He'd give her back the slim dagger after all. Drifting away from the crumpled wreck for a beat, he retrieved the fallen blade and studied the edge as he corrected course once again and knelt heavily next to Edelgard. No need to test the thing, of course -- the crimson soaking through fur and plate told him all he needed to know.
It told him all he needed, and Areadbhar made the choice of access easy, of course.
… Even in death, her eyes hated.
That was the last piece he needed. Resolution washed over him like a cold tide; he set the massive lance down on the cold flagstones and plunged his fingertips into the wreakage of Edelgard's cuirass, tearing metal and harness free and clearing space for his work. Blood was already pooling; it was just as well he decided now, before his prizes became less palatable.
I wonder if it will change me.
It doesn't matter, as long as she stays down.
That was a gaping wound, as expected. He felt a pang of regret for other choice portions now spoiled by oozing bile and other unpleasantness, but all was not lost -- she was still mostly upright, after all. That would save the most important thing. The dagger flashed once, twice; with a chirurgeon's precision he sliced upward, widening the gape of the savaged flesh and severing what of her ribcage remained intact. Opening that bony cradle was no more than a setting of fingertips and pulling lightly to either side -- and there it was, a dull jewel of blood and muscle and hate.
The dagger fell to the flagstones a second time. Without hesitation, Dimitri reached into the still-warm cavity of Edelgard's breast and pulled her heart free with a single wrench of his wrist. Blood flowed over his fingers; good.
Distantly he heard a protest, but could hardly care less -- not when the rich blackly-crimson meat brought to his lips tasted of iron and the richness of a heart in its prime. Dagger be damned, or any other blade; he tore segment from valve with teeth and tongue and fingertips, savouring the texture, the tearing, every last morsel.
That rich, bloody iron lingering on his tongue at all was not lost on him, either.
So this is how I regain another broken part of me, is it?
That was only fitting, after all he'd lost to her and hers. Let him gain it all back in blood and flesh, in marrow on his tongue and bone between his teeth --
Before he realized it he'd finished, licking iron-sweet crimson stains from his fingers before surveying her and making swift decisions. Now, now he brought the dagger to bear once again; the first and best was his, but there were other sweet tidbits to claim before he lost his chance. A taste of lights, and untainted liver, and -- memories of keeping himself going those long dark nights fluttering almost pleasantly through his thoughts -- a meetly deep carving through muscle to find and crush and hollow the great bone of the leg and scoop the marrowfat free.
She would not rise again, no. He was very sure of that now. What remained he would see destroyed, just on the chance; fire would do. But he'd already taken, now, what needed to be taken.
The murmurs began to fade and burrow deeply into the shadows of his soul; and he sighed, content at last.
[FE: 3H] Sweet Black Iron Between The Teeth
He managed maybe a half-dozen steps before stopping.
It was as if he could feel those dead eyes boring into his back. But no voice; not yet.
Not yet.
The Professor was turning, glancing back over one shoulder questioningly. Dimitri shook his head, turning to look back, himself --
I won't risk it.
One step back towards Edelgard's cooling corpse. Another. He ignored the wordless protest behind him, then shook off the Professor's grip like a horse shivering away a fly.
I can't … risk her coming back as more than a voice, either.
Terrible? Yes, these were terrible thoughts. But was he not a monster already? A beast? Five years and counting of survival proved him so, if nothing else, and those skills -- his very life -- were hard-won and precious, put to use saving his people. And if the beast could end a greater monster forever, so be it.
Besides, came the coiling, almost wistful thought; besides, this would be something of a gift. He'd give her back the slim dagger after all. Drifting away from the crumpled wreck for a beat, he retrieved the fallen blade and studied the edge as he corrected course once again and knelt heavily next to Edelgard. No need to test the thing, of course -- the crimson soaking through fur and plate told him all he needed to know.
It told him all he needed, and Areadbhar made the choice of access easy, of course.
… Even in death, her eyes hated.
That was the last piece he needed. Resolution washed over him like a cold tide; he set the massive lance down on the cold flagstones and plunged his fingertips into the wreakage of Edelgard's cuirass, tearing metal and harness free and clearing space for his work. Blood was already pooling; it was just as well he decided now, before his prizes became less palatable.
I wonder if it will change me.
It doesn't matter, as long as she stays down.
That was a gaping wound, as expected. He felt a pang of regret for other choice portions now spoiled by oozing bile and other unpleasantness, but all was not lost -- she was still mostly upright, after all. That would save the most important thing. The dagger flashed once, twice; with a chirurgeon's precision he sliced upward, widening the gape of the savaged flesh and severing what of her ribcage remained intact. Opening that bony cradle was no more than a setting of fingertips and pulling lightly to either side -- and there it was, a dull jewel of blood and muscle and hate.
The dagger fell to the flagstones a second time. Without hesitation, Dimitri reached into the still-warm cavity of Edelgard's breast and pulled her heart free with a single wrench of his wrist. Blood flowed over his fingers; good.
Distantly he heard a protest, but could hardly care less -- not when the rich blackly-crimson meat brought to his lips tasted of iron and the richness of a heart in its prime. Dagger be damned, or any other blade; he tore segment from valve with teeth and tongue and fingertips, savouring the texture, the tearing, every last morsel.
That rich, bloody iron lingering on his tongue at all was not lost on him, either.
So this is how I regain another broken part of me, is it?
That was only fitting, after all he'd lost to her and hers. Let him gain it all back in blood and flesh, in marrow on his tongue and bone between his teeth --
Before he realized it he'd finished, licking iron-sweet crimson stains from his fingers before surveying her and making swift decisions. Now, now he brought the dagger to bear once again; the first and best was his, but there were other sweet tidbits to claim before he lost his chance. A taste of lights, and untainted liver, and -- memories of keeping himself going those long dark nights fluttering almost pleasantly through his thoughts -- a meetly deep carving through muscle to find and crush and hollow the great bone of the leg and scoop the marrowfat free.
She would not rise again, no. He was very sure of that now. What remained he would see destroyed, just on the chance; fire would do. But he'd already taken, now, what needed to be taken.
The murmurs began to fade and burrow deeply into the shadows of his soul; and he sighed, content at last.