image [https://files.catbox.moe/v0vfzm.png]

It began with the heavy slam of a door, followed by the intense steps of two sets of feet and the loud voices of their owners. The previously reigning silence was utterly shattered by the displacement of furniture across the small apartment, and the child hidden undercovers huddled closer to a cat who could only meow moodily in response —unaware of the anxiousness that brought the girl to shut her eyes tightly, holding onto breath between firmly pressed lips.

The mayhem wasn’t exactly over either. Having already pushed Lieta aside, Narguile Ashford opened the bathroom door with another loud strike of his fists, his mind too overtaken by adrenaline to keep a proper handle on his forcefulness. He didn’t bother turning on the lights, nor did he care about the set of footprints his shoes left on the way there, remnants of the downpour that continued to reign on the streets.

His first instinct once he was surrounded by the sterile ceramic tiles of the walls was to let out a large, deep exhalation. Leaning over the bathroom sink, his hands found a natural resting place as they covered the entirety of his face. Hot currents of air escaped from his lips, providing a hard to ignore sting across his gashed knuckles.

Opening the faucet allowed the sound of freely running water to fill his ears, offering a much needed respite from the rhythmical throbbing his brain kept making against the confines of his skull. His shoulders released some of that head-aching tension that kept his neck tied in a knot not long after.

Still forcing himself to breathe slowly, Narguile placed both his hands under the stream, rubbing them with his parted fingertips to ensure he got rid of all the blood that stained them.

His skin remained numbed, at least enough for the pain to stay as a distant shadow, yet it was clear he was badly hurt nonetheless. Narguile’s dry mouth produced a series of groans every time his carelessness opened the wounds just a tiny bit more, but a different matter altogether pressed him harder.

Just… How much of that blood was his?

To reflect on such a thing helped Narguile to slowly bring down the levels of agitation still pumped wildly through his bloodstream, however, it was replaced by something far darker swiftly enough.

Worry. Guilt. Enough to weigh down on him as if they had gained a physical mass, forcing him to lift one soaked hand and clutch his charcoal hair. He needed it to ground himself, anything to keep him from striking the mirror both anger and frustration.

Unable to completely tune out from his own mind, no matter how much he wanted to, Narguile delivered a long sigh as the sweat running down his forehead clashed against the cold water brought by his fingers.

It’s not like this was the first time something like this had happened. Back at the foster group home, brawls and him walked pretty much hand in hand, even way before Lieta became part of his life, but…

Was there any need to continue this line of thought? This and that were completely different matters. The line crossed tonight could never be compared to childish fights that had only bruises and adult chastisement as collateral. To even try it would be nothing more than a pitiful attempt at a poor excuse.

As his eyes fell onto his hands, unavoidably looking at the bloodstains marring the sleeves of his shirt, Narguile wondered. Had he killed that man? Sure, the fucker deserved a beating, such remorse never quite finished formulating in his head, but the still raw memory crept into his conscience like a haunt —repeating itself on hands rapidly growing sore, the torn skin feeling like a live fire that wouldn’t subside no matter how much water was poured over it.

How his knuckles sunk on that bastard’s face, loosening teeth and displacing nasal bones. How he lost sight of everything surrounding him as he slammed his skull against the asphalt multiple times. How the gargling noises of his throat drowned in blood filled that godforsaken alley, interrupted only by the distant pleas urging him to stop made by Lieta…

They all took their own part in a macabre echo chamber inside Narguile’s head. To lose all inhibition and allow every primal impulse to take control remained as exhilarating as it was frightening… Yet, not even that was the full reason as to why he was now being assaulted by regret.

What his wife had witnessed that day wouldn’t be something that could be simply unseen. The visage of the person you trusted your life to, reduced to a savage instrument of violence. Would such a sight return anytime he held their daughter in his arms? To be seen with fear by their eyes was more than enough to break the young man’s heart into fragments.

Such concern was the emotional, irrational side of him speaking loudly; but logic would swiftly peek its ugly face to become a similar thorn inside his chest.

He might have left a corpse in the streets, one murdered by his own bare hands. What if the cops came to his home for questioning? What would he say then? Should he confess right away and turn himself in? But if he went to prison, what would his wife and daughter do afterwards?

In such a state of turmoil, Narguile couldn’t stop his heart from rapidly start beating louder. He raised his eyes towards the mirror glass in front of him, perhaps in the hope that the reflection of the tangible could somehow offer a small reprieve —perhaps just to laugh at himself from being this pathetically pushed to this mounting sensation of dread.

That was the first time he ever laid eyes on it. That… Thing.

He wasn’t the kind to believe in ghosts, or demons or monsters of any sort of kind —yet here was something that could not be called by any other name.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

A large half-translucent shadow towered behind his back, a spectral being of sickly greenish-black skin. Its flesh was torn and ruptured all over, allowing a disturbing sight of the slimy patches of its interiors that didn’t quite bleed over. Its bloated body lacked any proper sense of proportion. It was a hulking mass of fat under a thickened hide with grotesquely long arms that extended beyond its obese waistline, faintly disappearing into nothingness.

Yet it was the eyes of that creature that Narguile couldn’t move away from, pushing every other detail to the back of his mind. A cold sensation traveled down his back, momentarily paralyzed in position. The sensation was like if the fingers of death itself had clutched his spine the very moment their ‘gazes’ locked.

Darkened and putrid yellow teeth rested on its large, wide and abysmal maw, birthing an uneven and repulsive smile on that… Unspeakable abomination. It seemed to be having the time of its life, cruelly pleased beyond belief at how utterly helpless and appalled its soon-to-be victim was.

Aside from that horrid grin, it lacked most features that a human should have. Its round, swollen face was devoid of nose, of ears, or any semblance of hair. The rough texture of its skin was alien in nature, but another disturbing trait triumphed over all the others in that malignant expression of evil satisfaction.

Where the demonic specter’s eyes should be, two sunken, gaping orifices stood instead. A blackness denser than darkness itself resided in them, and thick wrinkles surrounded the emptied holes, shaping them into an abyssal expression of morbid joy —easily ascertained even through the mirror’s reflection.

For, despite its apparent lack of sight… It seemed watchful, aware not only of every single drop of sweat running down Narguile’s forehead, but also of all the fight-or-flight impulses being barely held back from impending collapse.

Narguile’s already disheveled hair was shaken down further as he abruptly turned around to confront the monster face-to-face, hoping it would disappear the moment he directed his gaze without every interruption —though every fiber of his being yelled at him not to do so.

To do as much only resulted in his eyes widening further in fright.

It was no trick of the light, nor a delusion served by his unstable mental condition.

Despite the way its silhouette seemed to fade into the darkened atmosphere of the bathroom, faintly illuminated by the artificial lighting filtering in from the hallway behind the partly opened door… That thing, that... Monster…

It was undeniably there.

No matter how fervently he wished to deny it, how much nausea he felt by seeing it directly, and how difficult it suddenly felt to breathe, Narguile had no options but to accept its repellent existence. To have it so close before him was already enough to suffocate, straining a sanity that had never been doubted even once before.

In that nerve-wracking, silent stillness, Narguile’s examination of the disrupting entity continued amidst shallow and labored intakes of air. Surrounding its round, deformed head hovered an ornate headpiece, giving shape to the formless dread that seeped from every pore of its spectral being.

The headpiece was very similar to a crown of antlers and thorns, coated erratically in what appeared to be rusted steel and tarnished silver. It grew and twisted in a manner that resembled an overgrown vine, writhing around its head until it sunk into the space between skin and bone, shape visible through the spots where flesh gave way to decay in a visage of putrefaction.

“Why, such splendor… Your majesty.” Though his eyes grew dizzy, and his line of sight blurred, Narguile forced his lips into a snarky smile. “I’m sorry but it’s a little wasted on you.”

>> “I mean… Look at how fucking ugly you are.”

His sarcasm wasn’t met by any kind of verbal response, but the abomination’s head did tilt itself towards him in what perhaps could be construed as curiosity —or was it perhaps amusement towards Narguile’s evident discomfort? Though it lacked eyes to see, or ears to hear, it caught up everything around it with sheer oppressive malice… And it wasn’t just that.

It… Communicated —only not in any human language.

The thick, bony thorns seemed to pulse lightly, a gesture subtle yet sinister; and every time they did so, Narguile could feel his brain throbbing against the confines of his skull. Despite the lack of a tangible stench in the bathroom, his stomach churned with bile when those pits where eyes should dwell stared back at him. They now appeared as windows into endless nightfall, heightened by the pulsating coronet.

A hard swallow went down his dried throat, closing his eyes in an attempt to regain some semblance of control over his scattered senses. He didn’t need to throw a punch to understand it was a futile endeavor… But then… What else could he do? Why was this monster haunting him? And what was it doing that made him feel so… Sick?

“What do you want?” Narguile’s voice came out defiantly even though he should have lacked the strength to do so. He needed to, that was all that mattered. “Are you here to take me? For what I did?”

His family was just beyond that bathroom door. If the devil himself had pursued Narguile there over the crime that he had just committed, it was his duty to destroy him right there and then, no matter the cost. For their sake.

A low gurgle escaped from the greenish creature’s maw —A sound most would associate with a guttural mockery of laughter if it didn’t carry such a chilling resonance. It stood before Narguile yet it seemed to envelop him completely in its presence like a cold blanket of despair, menacing to consume him just as much as the worry and concern he had experienced right before seeing him.

But even at that time, it wasn’t his own well-being that tormented him. He didn’t care whatever retribution may come his way. If that… beast, that ‘Punisher’ of sorts sought to devour him for his crime...

Then he didn’t mind that his flesh could serve as a sacrifice just so that Lieta and Aria could continue their lives without any further danger.

It was as if his acceptance, when all he could see was the semi-transparent flesh of the hideous abomination before him, triggered something inside himself. His headache became more unbearable, preventing him from being able to even look straight.

As his legs lost the strength and stability to keep him standing, Narguile collapsed to his knees and bluntly slammed the door before succumbing to the floor. A dreadful sense of uneasiness ran through his veins, the last sight before losing consciousness being the sightless pits of that cruel entity staring down at him.

Was it that entertained by the willingness to give himself up in order to protect his wife and daughter?

image [https://files.catbox.moe/v0vfzm.png]