Chapter Text
The Shadowlands were dangerous. Not just because of the curse or the monsters lurking in the dark. It was dangerous because he was here. Because of what this place did with his head.
Ever since Alfira he’d kept his companions at arm's length, had tried his best to push back his bloodlust, though he couldn't prevent it to overtake him with the first whiff of blood in battle. The best he could do was to aim his twisted need to hurt and harm at their enemies and to reel it back in once the fighting was over.
But then Halsin joined them and his calm was like cold water on charred skin. His presence, his kindness made pushing the Urge back easier. Eli'as had let himself get lulled into some false sense of security, trusting that if things got bad the huge elf could easily shift into a bear and beat him back in place. Or kill him. So he'd let his guard down slowly.
Stupid. Fucking, fucking stupid. He knows better now.
Halsin is no match for the twisted Darkness blackening his soul and Gods, the voices are so fucking loud here. Where once they’d been nagging whispers he’d learned to shut out during most of the day they are now screaming at him, sick of being ignored and demanding to be heeded. He barely dares to close his eyes, afraid he’ll wake up with blood on his hands once again and the maimed corpse of one of his friends at his feet.
But he found a way to deal with it, to keep it under control. A temporary way probably, a desperate one definitely, but for now, it works.
Everyone has long since turned in for the night, he hadn’t heard anything besides his own pants and grunts for a while which were confined to his tent thanks to the silencing spell. Inside his tent, it’s stuffy and warm, the smell of blood so thick he can taste it on his tongue.
His fingers tremble slightly from exhaustion when he reaches for the rag to wipe the knife and his fingers down, it’s no use if it’s too slick to hold properly.
He reaches for the bottle of brandy and takes a deep drag, allowing it to curl around his raw mind, the Urge is giddy while he feels mostly resigned and tired.
Eli’as picks up the blade again and places another cut. There are already two on his left thigh, one on his right, and one on his stomach. He hisses through his teeth, watches as skin and muscle part beneath the blade. His arm cramps up and he is forced to drop the dagger. His vision swims and for a second he thinks he might pass out but the Urge wants to watch - wants to relish and so he stays conscious. Blood is flowing down his thigh freely, soaking the bedroll he kneels on and he is shaking from adrenaline and the euphoria that comes with spilled blood, even when it is his own. The Urge seems to prefer his blood over none.
He grunts as he digs his fingers into the cut and rips . His vision turns gray at the edges with black spots dancing in front of his eyes. Pressing his nails into his twitching thighs he heaves in harsh breaths, refusing to scream even with the silencing spell in place. It feels like a privilege he doesn’t deserve, not with what lurks in his twisted head, after what he did to that poor girl, Alfira.
"Eli'as,” comes Halsin’s worried voice from outside his tent. “Are you alright-"
It isn’t Eli’as' but the Dark Urge’s hideous mug that glares up with bloodshot eyes as the Druid enters his tent. He is sweating from the pain and his fingers are tacky with blood. The wounds are messy with ragged, ripped edges that would take a long time to heal if he didn’t have magic and some unnatural regeneration abilities he can’t even begin to explain.
For a heartbeat, Halsin seems petrified before his survival instinct caves to his irritating urge to help. He turns his body to call for Shadowheart or another of their companions, but Eli'as is faster. He launches forward and presses his bloody palm firmly on his mouth and with his other hand fisted into Halsin’s shirt pulls him inside the tent and into the silencing spell.
Halsin pushes his hand away and grips his wrist. "Calm down," he says, mistaking his reaction for one of fear as he worriedly eyes his messed-up thigh. How long would it take for this gravelly voice to get hoarse with pain? “What happened? Were you attacked? Did the shadows get you?”
“No,” Eli'as forces himself to answer. It nearly hurts to unclench his jaw. “What are you doing here?”
“I smelled your blood,” Halsin replies, taken aback by the hostility in his voice. "Please friend, you're badly wounded, let me help." His hands already gleam with the telltale sign of healing magic as they reach for him. Eli'as roughly pushes them away from his wounds, his head pounding to the beat of his heart.
"It eludes the purpose if you heal them."
Halsin’s face betrays the exact moment he finally grasps the situation. "And what purpose would that be?" Halsin’s voice is firm, nearly demanding, the no-bullshit-kind that probably cowed the novices in his grove. But Halsin wasn't at the grove and Eli'as wasn't to be cowed - quite the opposite.
"Careful," he growled, forcing back the pictures of the druid's vocal cords tightly strung around his gurgling, wheezing throat. His hold on the Urge is fragile at best but with the smell of blood in the air, it was waiting for the second it could take over, lurking just beneath the surface. “Just because you collectively decided not to take my more violent, darker side seriously doesn't mean it isn't there, that it won’t harm you. I am trying to keep you all safe.”
“By mutilating yourself?” He never heard Halsin raise his voice. If his head weren’t foggy with the anticipation - no, the yearning for violence, it would surprise him more. “That can’t be the solution!”
“Well, it’s either my leg I’m cutting up or Shadowheart’s throat. Or Karlach’s. Or Wyll’s. I don’t think I’ll be picky once I lose control,” he snaps, his voice bordering on hysterical near the end.
The Druid shakes his head with angry vehemence. “You give yourself too little credit. You're far from the monster you think you are. You acted with nothing but kindness and grace since I met you, the good you've done far outweighs any violent thoughts you may harbor and-"
“Yes, and it takes every bit of willpower not to mutilate every person we meet!” he shouts. “All I can remember, all I dream about is blood and pain and torture. I can’t-” His voice breaks and he bites his cheek hard enough to taste blood, forcing himself to focus, to not lose himself in the fantasy of how Halsin would look if he realized he’d been so, so wrong. Sucking in a harsh breath he tries to blink the red fog from his vision and fights to force his anger down. "I know you want to help," he bites out through gritted teeth. "But you’re not. This cursed place makes it very hard to… stay in control. And I am very close to hurting you. So please, Halsin. Leave .”
“Leave? How can you expect me to leave you like this, you’re bleeding, and you’re not entirely yourself. I can’t leave you knowing you’ll hurt yourself!” He holds up a hand to silence Eli’as’ protest. “Please do not think me naive or defenseless. While I believe you to be stronger than whatever monster torments you, I can defend myself should it lash out. I can literally change into a bear, Eli’as.”
“You wouldn't get the chance!” he snarls, his voice not entirely his own, he barely hears it over the buzzing in his ears. “It would take three cuts with my dagger and you wouldn’t be able to move a single muscle. But you could scream. And I would drag it out long past you were coherent enough to even do that.”
Halsin flinches back and Eli'as drags a fingernail over the torn cut in his thigh. The pain rakes up his spine like electricity and he exhales harshly but it takes the Urge’s focus off his friend for the moment.
“This isn’t you,” Halsin says, his voice slightly hoarse but firm. “You can fight it.”
Eli’as nearly screams in frustration. His resolve is tearing, he needs Halsin to leave now .
With the druid lacking a tadpole, Eli'as casts detect-thoughts with a flick of his fingers and forces his mind into Halsin's, forces him to see. The assault comes too sudden to ward him off and Eli'as feels Halsin’s alarm for only a second before the Urge’s malice dominates everything else.
His Darkness preens at the attention of another and purrs words of violence, paints bloody pictures in gory detail with a putrid tongue.
It is so much fun when they know what is coming for them, if they get consumed by fear, first. Let's show him the many ways his beloved Oakfather blessed his body to feel pain, what highs it can reach. Oh, how breathtakingly cruel nature can be. We'll bring him to the brink of death over and over again until there is just enough left for the darkness. Hah, the sweet terror he'll feel once the shadows that occupy him so penetrate every intimate part of him.
Eli'as is nauseous. The Urge leaves unerasable stains on his soul whenever it whispers to him. Showing it to someone else, listening to its venom pulls all the nastiness clinging to him like tar into the light. He can’t bear it for long before he forces his mental walls back up and almost pushes the Druid out of his mind.
As if released from a paralyzing spell, Halsin flinches back, his complexion a few shades paler than before and he's staring at Eli'as wide-eyed.
Eli'as returns his stare almost challengingly, back straight, face impassive - it takes all his remaining willpower not to throw up and he claws shaky fingers into the raw flesh of his thigh. They don’t speak. Halsin’s brows are knitted and his eyes flit between Eli'as’ like he is waiting for him to laugh and reveal all this as a cruel prank. Eli'as has to look away. “Get out.”
Halsin opens his mouth as if to say something but clenches it shut again and leaves.