Playing The Victims [BL]

Chapter One Hundred & Eighteen | Fourth World

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Time had ticked away as both the benevolent god and his little mortal rolled around in bed. Since every part of that separate world was an extension of Zephyr, Finch didn't have to question how much of that time he had spent in his presence. He didn't have to worry about it slipping through fingers in the real world. Upon opening his eyes he noted everyone in the same places as which they stood before he collapsed.

All aside from those who stood closest to him. Two of whom were the Chief and his favoured son. But they still suspected Finch was under the delirious influence of the drink he'd consumed, so didn't expect any reaction as the Chief grew closer with a makeshift item which had previously been kept amidst the flames.

Absent was the protection of the furs that had wrapped around his shoulders and shielded his practically-naked form. From over his shoulder, Finch felt the prickling of heat as it gradually grew closer. He dug his teeth into the sides of his cheek as he focused on discreetly positioning his body.

The slight weight of the knife under his grasp grew heavier as the Chief got closer. It was only when he was within arm's length, did Finch rip himself out of reach by spinning in the opposite direction. In a crouched position, as his body came to face the Chief, he whipped the knife out and caught the forearm of the man who had everything under his control.

The knife sliced through the skin with little resistance given how quickly Finch acted. It wasn't his first time using a weapon, but it was the first time in the current world he got to use his speciality. And wielding a knife didn't need someone with a big stature.

Following the swift and effective swipe, Finch retreated a step and created ample space for the equivalent of a branding-iron, to be dropped without harming him. It hit the ground and even then, there was the sound of sizzling. Which had him lifting his gaze, which was just as heated, to look at the Chief.

Standing not too far from his father's side was Hawk; also a man who was well aware of the conditions of the offering ceremony. But at least the man's expression wasn't one filled with rage, like his father's.

As the flames from the large fire in the centre of the space, crackled with an oncoming breeze, Finch stood with his hand firmly grasping his knife and staring in preparedness. As if the most fragile of glasses, as soon as the cool air touched the necklace around Finch's neck, it shattered into pieces and hit the ground. But it was also at that moment, when the wind brushed dishevelled wisps of his hair to one side, revealing an eye-catching item of jewellery that was unlike anything anyone had ever seen.

The necklace given by Finch's parents wasn't accepted when Finch had offered it to Zephyr, but the man obviously understood the sentiment behind it. So by destroying the token around his neck, it showed those devout followers that Finch had stood before their god and he had accepted the offering. But there were more questions than answers swirling through the simple minds of the men opposite him.

When the Chief, with a face of thunder, took a bold step towards Finch with his fists clenched, Hawk quickly got to work trying to calm him down. Blood dripped down the Chief's arm and onto the ground which was covered in a dusting of snow. Due to the excruciating heat of the branding iron, it had melted straight through and created a puddle.

At the thought of that touching his skin, Finch's expression grew even more venomous. Even the man he had spent most of his time with in the current world, couldn't escape the glare. In fact Hawk was looking extremely conflicted. Whether or not that was for show, Finch couldn't be sure. But as was the case when facing Zephyr, Finch listened to his head instead of being ruled by his heart.