Chapter 16

Mark's eyes darted between Anti and his playset. The snarl and the glint. His fangs a mirror of his handheld weapons sharpened blades, he had been born with daggers. Mark grunted as he struggled to turn his head away from the monstrosities before him. Anti grinned at this discovery begging Mark to question what he had done. "If you can't tell already Markimoo, I've basically paralysed you. I can't work with you squirming and wriggling." Anti rotated around the bench fixated upon Mark's proof of fear. "If you make me mad. I'll squish you like a bug. Like the parasite you are." Hysterical giggles befell Mark as his eyes trembled. "You'd also better stay awake Mark, you don't want me to make you." Anti gestured towards his selection, his smirk widening along with Mark's growing terror. "I'm going to hate this but I'll have to heal those injuries before I begin. Don't want you dying on me. Yet." A silencing click echoed through the basement. Anti growled infuriated by Mark's recovery but suddenly was exhilarated to work with his new canvas. "Now stay still," Anti giggled holding his knife slightly above Mark's throat. "Oh, yeah! I forgot. You don't have a choice." Rising the favoured weapon, Anti surveyed his blank painting, perhaps this would be his masterpiece.

"What to do… what to do…" Anti mused to himself. Disregarding Mark's thoughts of areas he begged Anti not to touch, Anti chuckled. Mark had only made it easier. With a glimmer in his eyes, the reflection of his toy, Anti pinned the tip of the blade on top of Mark's clavicle. His objective was to slice his shirt open, but a little spillage wouldn't hurt. He preferred abstract art anyways. As he dragged the knife down, he tilted his head back, filled with vexation at the sound of the ripping fabric. Mark couldn't scream ridding him of some entertainment, but his expression would suffice for now. Unaware of his aim, Anti continued gliding the weapon down Mark's chest. With Mark paralysed, he was unable to distinguish if he had cut Mark or not. It didn't matter to him. The more pain the better.

Anti withdrew his weapon and peered over his painting. The shirt had been cut open however not cleanly. One could make out a zigzag pattern followed by a diagonal slice, the slice itself began off centre. Too far to the right. The outline of Anti's handiwork was branded on Mark, a crimson indentation, almost a scar, following the same distorted path. Placing the knife's hilt in his mouth, Anti clenched tightly, a single fang covered the handle preventing it from falling. Claws tore the cotton fabric apart. They were almost useless. The sides of the shirt dangled over the bench's edge, Mark's chest now exposed. Retrieving his knife, Anti grinned, beginning to analyse his workspace.

"I wonder Mark, have you ever hallucinated? I mean truly, not that drug inducing shit, I mean the kind that can lead you to kill." Anti dug his blade slightly below Mark's sternum. Despite being paralysed, Mark flinched, enticing Anti. "The mind is such a powerful tool, but it's also a dangerous weapon." Dragging the knife down, Anti licked his lips watching the scarlet liquid begin to rise soon forming an overflowing stream. "I could fuck with your mind Mark, but I'm being nice." The blade had become drenched in the familiar coat. Pulling it out, Anti drew it towards his twisted grin. Allowing his serpent tongue to caress the metallic device, Anti devoured away at Mark's blood. "It's not as bad as Jack's at least." Anti giggled staring at Mark. The only response he received was the trembling pupils.

Anti leaned in closely towards Mark's immobile body. Flesh against flesh, Anti pressed his lips against Mark's. For an instant, Mark rejoiced in the familiar warmth, he forgot the demon inhabiting his friend. This was Jack, and he was kissing Mark. A passionate embrace, completely different to Anti's cold grasp. He imagined his blue irises enclosed by his relaxed eyelids, delved into their affectionate reunion. He desired to ruffle his hair by running his fingers between the soft locks. A flame flickered between them. Bright. Alive. It couldn't be put out.

He melted into Jack's grasp, imprisoned by his captivating kiss, this was all that mattered. Mark and the Irish man. This man he had grown to love. He had studied each detail, each feature when he delivered that carefree smile. The crinkle of his nose. His cerulean gaze. Raised brows. The occasional dimples. The only thing he looked forward to in this cruel reality. Three words was all he needed to say, three words that had keep him up all those nights, three words that would make him or break him. Agony struck him as he considered the consequences, a sudden jab at his heart. What if he left? What if he hated him? What if…?

Eyes flung wide open, spying the weapon digging into his chest. The true source of his pain. The figure emerged over him, tightening his hold upon the wooden handle. Giggles followed as the knife began to slice through his punctured flesh. "You seemed to be really into that kiss, Markimoo. Am I that attractive?" Realisation struck him, mirroring Anti's own actions. "Anti…" Anti smacked his lips before they twisted into his menacing grin. "That's me!" Removing his stained tool, Anti pierced his own index finger, fixated upon the splitting flesh releasing the crimson liquid.

Rotating towards Mark, Anti placed his finger upon his split lip. "Lick it." It was barely a cut, only a small indent allowing a drop to appear, yet Mark struggled to give it entry into his mouth. "I said LICK IT!" Forcing his finger to break through Mark's fortress, Mark's taste buds had begun to devour the little drop of blood. It was so bitter. So different. So acidic. "There we go." Anti chuckled, his lone eye glinting. "Now, as punishment," With his free hand, Anti clutched Mark's chin. Retrieving his finger, he raised it up, positioning himself for his next attack. Forcing Mark to open his mouth, Anti allowed his hand to reach in, clamping upon a single incisor. "I'll take this!" Mark's eyes widened, aware of Anti's intentions. His thumb and index finger locked themselves around his incisor, the usual tooth one would lose when involved in a fist fight, as depicted by countless cartoons.

Anti began to pull against his bottom gum with his pliers made of flesh, signalled by Mark's sudden squirming. "This is what happens when you don't do as I say!" Another giggle followed by another tug, Mark clenched his fists, his veins now visible as he strained to escape Anti's hold. "No, no, no!" Anti smirked witnessing Mark's familiar waterworks, they were so satisfying, it was a confirmation of his work being successful. The tooth wouldn't budge, causing Anti to apply more force. It was as stubborn as Mark. Anti didn't mind, additional pain was an advantage, hopefully not too lethal. The root was giving up, gradually tearing from his bloody gum. The rising pool of scarlet motivated Anti to continue his task, determined to rip out his precious tooth. Mark had loved to smile, hadn't he? And now, now he had taken away that pleasure. Jiggling the tooth between his grasp, Mark flinched with each movement, attempting to station himself by clawing into the wooden surface below him. Anti delivered a devious smile eyeing his prey wriggling with pain, it pleased him so very much. Digging his fingers underneath the loose tooth, Anti yanked at it tightly, receiving a chilling scream from Mark. Raspy but loud. The demon snickered still surprised that Mark could even speak, never even considering the possibility of a scream. The root had finally begun to appear, releasing a larger stream of crimson. The floodgates were opening. With one last jerk, Anti obtained his bloody prize.

Raising it up towards the sole light source, Anti studied his artefact, each potential nerve he had ripped, the deep root and the fresh red coating. His own fingers were drenched in the same liquid and so were Mark's lips as the stream began to overflow. Licking each finger, he grinned at its flavour. It was indescribable, yet so delicious. Heading towards his collection, he transferred the tooth into an empty container. He was going to preserve his trophy as he had done with so many others.

Spitting onto the concrete surface, the black substance left Anti's mouth. The matter that had been lurking in his captive, luring Dark towards his chambers. Anti twisted his sneaker into the black puddle, harshly pressing into it, staring at the entity writhing. "Fuck. You." Pressing his arm against his lips, he wiped against the remnants of black, staining his limb in the process. His skin covered with layers of hair had been enough to contrast against his sickly pale flesh, and now this additional murky goo, it had provided an even thicker coat. Anti recoiled, desperate to remove Dark's residue. Undoubtedly, Dark would sniff Anti out, Mark would see to that. How long had it been in him? Anti hadn't even noticed it until he started spluttering. At least he had had some fun. Would another showdown ensue?

Resuming his task, Anti placed his treasure down. Still maintaining his grip upon the knife, he hovered over towards the battered man, his face drenched with pain. "I hope you've learnt your lesson Mark!" Mark's eyes darted at the demon upon hearing his familiar taunt. Watery once again, his expression pleaded for mercy, for surrender, for Jack. Anti merely chuckled, aware of Mark's desire. Both knew he wouldn't receive it. "Now, shall we continue?" Mark shook his head weakly. "Nonsense!" Flinching at the blade reopening his fresh wound, Mark's body convulsed, his veins popping out one by one across each exposed area of flesh. Making out the branches, Anti studied the intertwining paths, the thin blue trails hidden under Mark's skin blanket. Such intricate details, scattered underneath the natural woven suit, Anti's lust for blood, to feel this delicate structure, it only continued to grow. Continuing to lengthen the gash across Mark's chest, Anti forced his hands upon the handle, dragging it whilst Mark screeched. By now his knife had become completely soaked by Mark's life essence, layer upon layer both dry and wet, the colour matching to those of the luxurious lipstick women would wear to formal outings, eager to woo a potential date. Their kiss would be as deadly as the slice of his weapon, cutting through the victim, tearing his heart away in the blink of an eye. Perhaps she'd keep it, preserve it as Anti had done with his bloody possession, or maybe she'd toss it away. They always preferred fresh hearts anyways.

Leaving the knife inside Mark, Anti moved towards the bench. A groan escaped his lips as he let himself rest his weight upon the small cabinet. He could hear Jack's pathetic whines, his cries for Anti to cease his torment and his heart snapping as the two had shared a kiss. Anti giggled, wiping his brow, flinging beads of sweat into the stale air. Torture although fun, was exhausting. Closing his eyes, Anti left the scene before him. Mark still trapped with the protruding weapon helplessly spluttering, would possibly drown from his struggling gasps for air. For now, Anti had more important matters to attend to, especially if it meant Jack's demise.