/tw for gore + self-harm
For once in his long, long afterlife, Pad was finding himself growing unbearably tired. To the point where he almost collapsed out of exhaustion in front of a bunch of NPCs. It was weird, the heaviness that lulled his usually wide eyelids closed, the lack of balance leading him to stumble around like a blind man, and the constant, but subtle slur of his words. He had to give in eventually, as stubborn as he was, finding a suitable nook between a birch's trunk and its wobbly branch. He didn't even have to think about trying to relax, almost immediately after he allowed his muscles to unwind, he was out like a light.
He was running again. At night. It was a very familiar night. Too familiar. As he tore through the brick streets, it dawned on his sleeping mind. Was he dreaming? Could he still do that, even in death? He faltered in his sprint, tripping over a gap between bricks and cement. The boy caught himself with his hands, although the gauze wraps ripped and his palms and knees began to sting, sting with a pain that couldn't of been imagined by his dead mind. He rolled over, turning over his hands to see fresh, reddening abrasions beneath the shredded bandages. His knees were worse, dirty skin cut and raw over his bony joints. Then, he heard the barking, followed by sharp yells and the clatter of metal. Pad regained his feet with a wince, frozen like a deer in the headlights as he scrambled to process the situation. Before he could, his memory forced him to keep running, ignoring the building stitch in his side as he ducked into an alleyway. As if his body was separated from his mind, another half of him was watching in shock while the other quickly uncovered a grate, pulled it aside, and slipped into the tunnel below, careful to drag the grate back into place. As he crawled along, he swore he could hear the footsteps of his pursuers above him. Moonlight began to shine as he neared the escape. Okay, he knew this. He just had to take cover in the forest. Alright, he could do this. He had done this before many times, hadn't he? Why did it feel so doomed? Practically skidding down the grassy slopes, it wasn't long until the sound and lantern light of the guards caught up to him.
Finally, he had outsmarted them once more. Dashing through the forest at top speed was tiring, but Pad cut the chase short by diving into a ditch, hiding in a brook that carved its way through it until he was certain that the men had all but disappeared. It hadn't been as clean of an escape as he wanted it to be, yet it was still a successful escape. At least, up until daybreak. His instincts were screaming at him to stay hidden, but Pad was arrogant to a fault. He should of never gone out into the open, where they prepared an ambush. His feet began to take him across a fallen log serving as a bridge over a rapid river, his mind begged for him to turn back. It was too late. The familiar snap of a bowstring, the familiar pierce into his back, the familiar tumble into the river. Somewhere in Pad's dreaming mind, he was trying to block it out, giving silent whimpers as he kicked and thrashed in his sleep, mimicking the way he struggled when the men finally caught him. He was to be executed in the most humiliating way possible- upside down. They had retrieved their arrow, twisting it out before they left the boy for dead, tied by his ankles to a tree branch.
And so ensued the familiar fight to hold onto his slipping life. Except, something was unfamiliar, this time around. The river was beginning to gurgle and rise, the forest canopy stretched and distorted, blotting out any sunlight. As his eyes attempted to adjust, he blinked a couple of times, swiping away dripping blood and sweat to clear his vision. The boy would of cried out in shock, if it weren't for the bile and water and blood trapped inside his dying lungs.
Before him, an audience of corpses began to claw their way out of the ground, jaws twitching in mocking laughter. All people that he had killed. A single guardsmen, with his skull bashed in with a rock, helmet split to reveal bone and brain. His later comrades weren't too far behind, their throats and bellies slit, exposing their guilty insides. A wandering merchant, water dripping from his rotting frame, having been drowned by an unseen force. A nosy young women, neck snapped and bruised, her dainty and crooked face eyeing him with revenge burning into his flesh. Hundreds of others, varying from century to century, all jeering and snorting at his torturous end. The boy couldn't take it, burying his face in his palms, silently praying for it to end. All too familiar voices joined in, standing out above the rest. He dared to peek. Joining the undead mob were his peers: Jerseyboy, Ezekiel, Imperia, Kage, Pierce, Harrison, Jacob, even Ska'arq, all sneering and giggling like school girls over Pad getting what he finally deserved. A familiar sob caught his attention. The girl. His dying heart sank. She couldn't see him like this! This was why she left him, this is why he should of never help her-
The river was overflowing, creating a tidal wave already charging towards him, sweeping through the corpses with only one target in mind. In a panic, the boy reached up to try and free himself before he was swallowed by the wave, but the ropes tying him to the branch were starting to slither, and two snakes, intermingle with each other took their place. Almost instantly, Pad fell into the shadowy mist below him. The wave was getting closer. He willed himself to move, but the cold grasp of death was already upon him. Muscles seizing and lungs failing, Pad could only stare up at the wave as it crashed down on top of his pathetic form.
There was a familiar darkness.
The ghost jerked himself awake, practically falling out of the tree. His thoughts were reeling, he needed to find cover from the wave. Eyes still glazed over with sleep, they widened in fear as he launched himself from the tree, limping a couple steps afterwards, before taking off in full, wild sprint. He made no sound, mind not remembering to restart unnecessary breathing. A shadowy devil in the middle of the night, Pad skidded into an empty hut, cowering blankly in the middle of the main room as he started to regain himself.
Panting hard, the ghost's expression shifted from a shellshocked one, to that of rage. They hurt him. They laughed at him. They laughed. They were going to pay, they were going to suffer they made him, they were going to die. With an echoing growl, Pad snapped, unleashing his anger on the vacant home.
There was a crazed look in his eyes as he shifted from body to body, kicking deep holes in the drywall, clawing apart furniture with nothing but a mere swipe, even ramming into a mirror with no thought. For the first time in since his death, he felt alive. Pad was a whirlwind of destruction. Until there was nothing left to destroy. He stopped, collapsing in on himself as he hunched over, bringing on a coughing fit. His paws were terribly bloodied, cut on wood and grit, and even a few glass shards were embedded in his shoulder. In fact, his own, inky black blood speckled everything in the room. The demon didn't even take the time to admire all the damage he had done in one tantrum. He wanted to destroy more, when everything had already been. Except... himself.
There was no hesitation at all before the feline plunged his claws into his own arm, raking a line of fresh black, oozing out and beading into clots of blood. It wasn't enough. He tried the other arm, same results. Next time, he sunk his set of jagged fangs into his wrist, and again, and again. The pain was incredible. Pad hadn't felt this much pain ever since he was killed. He watched the black fluid pour out onto the wooden floor, filling in deep grooves left by his claws. He watched until his adrenaline died down, and the regret reared its head. Finally reasonable, the demon took a glance around in horror at what he had done. He forced himself to his burning limbs, not bothering to step over broken glass, and he staggered to a corner that remained stable. As paranoia took control once more, Pad began to dig furiously at the floorboard, ripping away a wooden panel before reaching dirt.
He needed to hide. Hide from everyone, hide from himself. Pad scooped away dirt, maw set into a grim line. Hiding was his strong suit. As soon as his burrow under the house was complete, Pad curled up into a ball, eyes staring forward, not even blinking as dawn began to filter in between the slots of the floorboards, and the entrance to his shelter. Maybe, Pad could stay here forever. Ignore the scolding and the pleading, and just never move. He didn't want to exist anymore. But he would stop existing as soon as the universe stopped existing. Pad would just have to hide away forever in his self-imposed grave.
/tl;dr he had a nightmare about his death, and suffered from a complete breakdown, and ended up destroying an empty hut, and even harming himself