Innu came slowly closer. He seemed tired, but more than that. There was something wrong with his eyes. They were paler than before, not a pale blue like they used to be, but clouded like fog. They were almost white.
Everything in Cyril told him to run, but he didn’t. This was Innu, right? As haggard and creepy as he looked, it was still Innu, right? Who else could it be?
Innu wrapped his arms slowly around Cyril: too slowly, as though trying not to spook him.
It’s all right now,” Innu breathed near his ear. “I’m here now.”
Something stung Cyril’s nose. Iron, salt and a sickly warmth. He knew it immediately.
“Are you hurt?” Cyril asked.
He felt Innu shake his head.
“Why do you smell like blood?”
Cyril’s neck erupted in searing pain.
He pushed, but Innu had latched on, biting deeper into his flesh.
Cyril shrieked and pushed again. A wave of fire erupted from his hands.
Innu was thrown to the ground. He patted out the flames and wiped his sleeve across his mouth. His fel face was covered in blood. Cyril’s blood.
Cyril clasped a hand over his wound and held the other out at Innu.
“Stay back!” shouted Cyril.
“You burnt me,” said Innu dreamily.
The tone was so ill-fitting, it took Cyril by surprise.
“Yes, and I’ll do it again. I promise the gods I will.”
The thing that was Innu wiped his face again and licked his fingers.
“I’m sorry, Cyril…” He had the gal to smile, as though Cyril was the one being ridiculous. “…but I’m just…I’m so…hungry…”
Without a reply, without thought, Innu dove at Cyril. Cyril didn’t know anything a bout warlock spells, but he thrust his hand at Innu anyway and yelled, hoping the great anger and sadness inside him would turn into something tangible and that it wouldn’t kill Innu.
There was no fire, but Cyril’s fingers tingled and burned. Innu tripped and fell to the ground. He curled into himself tighter and tighter. He groaned and then he yelled. Was it Cyril’s imagination, or was Innu’s skin getting waxier?
Cyril’s wound tingled and stung like his fingers. He held it tighter but he didn’t lower his aimed hand.
It hadn’t been Cyril’s imagination; Innu was looking worse by the second.
Innu let loose a shout of panic and turned those white eyes on Cyril.
“For stone’s sake, stop!”
Innu inhaled badly. And again.
“Stop! You stone-felled corpse, stop! You maggot-fed…maggot! I’ll tear you apart with my teeth! I’ll pickle you and braise you and drink wine from your skull!”
Cyril didn’t dare stop now. But tree’s mother, he hated this.
A/N: It’s hard to think of creative swears when you’re being hexed to death, but ghoul!Innu’s doing alright.