Some of my bnyugirls. Most of them? I think. The buff feral ones and then bonus GNB Giovanna and Hunajah who aren't as buff but are still kinda. Feral. They're all feral. Girls deserve to be feral. As a treat to me specifically.
Nura and his mother, Hunajah by her city name and often called simply "Aja" by her friends. She originates from Golmore even if she opted not to stay after Nura was born—meaning that while Nura is technically Golmore-born as well, having left the jungle at about four months old, he has no manner of memories of his ancestral homelands.
Almost 2k of Nura's mother murdering a child? I think yes.
Warnings for general violence and gore and some such.
Her knife cut a pretty line through the little brat’s stomach. He screamed, as loudly as he could through the gag muffling his sounds. His father screamed too, sounding much as if he was trying to form the words to plead with her. Oh, wouldn’t she please spare his poor boy, he was just a child.
If he had any honor, perhaps he would have even tried to offer his life in exchange for his boy’s.
She was deaf to his attempts at begging. No, no—she took pleasure in both of their screams, in their desperation, their fear. Perhaps it would help them understand how her baby had felt when attacked unprovoked, no crime committed on her child’s part.
The muscles of her jaw clenched as she grit her teeth. If only she had paid more attention. If only she had been faster to prevent Nura’s pained, frightened scream. The way her heart had leapt to her throat, but no matter how fast her head had whipped to her little darling–
It was already too late. She had rushed to him while the boy got off of her baby—her baby, crying, blood flowing down their face.
And the father, excusing his son’s behavior. ‘Boys will be boys’, as if assaulting other children at the playground was boys being boys. As if watching a little child try to fetch the stuffed toy torn from their hands was just a joke, as if laughing at their upset and responding to it by bashing their head into the ground was just play.
She hadn’t had the time to address the matter then, of course she hadn’t. Nura had needed to be seen to by healer, and her priority was rushing them to the nearest one.
Her baby’s confusion. Her baby wondering why, clinging to her, crying to her, wondering what they had done wrong for another to find cause to hurt them–
Nothing. Her baby had done nothing wrong, and she would make those that would hurt them anyway pay for touching them.
Her muscles shook with her rage, and there was nothing detached about the way she reached into the crying child’s abdomen through the gash she had made–
And pulled out a fistful of his intestines. Blood was staining the floor of the basement in an ever growing puddle, bleeding gleefully from the boy’s wounds.
It had been true child’s play to take the brat and bring him into the abandoned house at the edge of the city, tie his pathetically wriggling form and leave him there, afraid, while she let his father know where to find his child and that he better hurry if he ever wanted to see him again. Of course he had come, intent on saving his boy like he hadn’t let her save her child.
Even easier had it been to overpower him, the foolish, unhardened city-dweller that he was. Whether he had twice or thrice her mass hadn’t mattered; how was he ever meant to stand against a Golmore-raised Rava? She had tied him like she had tied his son, gagged him like she had gagged his son, and then left him laying helpless while she… Attended to the brat. His innards were warm and soft in her hand now, her smile a cold, cruel thing when she yanked on them just to make her point.
How helpless he was. How doomed.
How much he was going to hurt before she was done.
His sobbing was the sweetest music. His father’s sobbing, even more so. Their fear saturated the musky air of the dark space, only the light of a lone lantern and the moon shining through an equally lone, small window providing any illumination whatsoever. The pooling blood at her feet glistened ever beautifully, staining her just as Nura’s blood had stained her.
Her fury, but she comforted herself with this: just payback. She had failed Nura, but at least these two would have no chance to ever threaten them again—nor repent. They were beyond forgiveness. If they believed in their gods, they could go to them to beg for forgiveness, but hers would not be given.
The ceiling was low, the beams supporting it easily within her reach. She pulled enough of the boy’s intestines out of him to loop them over the nearest beam, the child delirious from his agony and barely cognizant of what was happening. That was fine; his father was still in his senses and able to fully appreciate what was happening. Not that she spared him so much as a glance, merely kept an ear turned his way to revel in the sounds of his horror. Her eyes were on his son, idly watching his reactions, increasingly pitiful as they were starting to be.
If nothing else, his flailing was incredibly amusing when she took a hold of the intestines she had slung over the beam like the best of ropes, and pulled. He made a gurgling scream when he was lifted off the ground by his innards, her lips curving in a smile all over again. Yes, was her only thought. Suffer, was her only wish.
And suffering he was. Suffering and dying, as per her design. Indeed, just this: a drawn out, painful death, that would be his reward for hurting her baby.
Once he was pleasantly dangling in midair, she tied him in place by his misplaced innards, watching him twitch in surely unbearable pain as his weight was put on things that were never even meant to be outside his body.
But this was what happened for hurting her child. What were they expecting? That they would never suffer consequences for terrorizing other children? Oh, ho, how they had messed with the wrong child this time.
The boy hanging thus, she gave him a gentle push and watched him sway like the hung corpse he would soon be.
And now. What to do but make his father share his fate? Had he experienced the same horror over his child’s actions as she had, perhaps she would have spared at least him. Perhaps.
Alas, that was not how things had gone.
She stalked over to the full-grown and yet so frightened man, coming to stand beside him and loom over his prone form. His son’s blood was dripping from her hands, had stained her clothes; she could feel it crusting on her face.
And he stared up at her, eyes wide, tears streaming down his face.
Just as they had streamed down her baby’s face.
In just a moment he would be even bloodier than Nura ever was.
She spun her knife in her hand as she considered him, his eyes following its motion. Did he know what was coming? Did he know she was going to do to him just what she had done to his little brat, or did he think he was going to suffer through less?
What a poor bastard.
Her face took to a derisive sneer that had him shrinking back from her, but he had nowhere to go. She crouched next to him and stabbed him in the stomach, his body spasming and throat releasing another scream muffled by the cloth stuffed into his mouth. She watched his face as she twisted the knife, watched it contort in pain–
Then ripped him open.
Ah, blood. She could barely smell anything beside it anymore, the basement floor staining further. No doubt the stray dogs would find their way here by its stench once she was done and the father and son hanging side by side. Well, they would get to feast.
Her hand was met with living warmth when she shoved it inside him and pulled out his intestines as well, then used them to drag him across the dirty floor until he was neatly positioned on the ground next to his dangling son. The child was still alive, but blood loss would get him if shock didn’t—drip, drip, drip went that liquid of life. Some dripped onto his father’s face, dazed from his own pains, but nevertheless capable of despair as he watched his son slowly die.
Good, good.
She let the moment stretch on for a while, relishing it herself but watching him close his eyes as if he was on the border of giving up already.
Pathetic. He should have thought about the rightfulness of his and his son’s actions sooner if he was so opposed to this.
His eyes opened again when her clothes rustled with her movement. She gave a satisfied smile down at him before throwing his intestines over the beam beside his son’s. How he started to shake his head and scream something again, but was she supposed to make out the words? Was she supposed to listen?
No. No, she was not.
Heavier than his child as he was, she had to strain her muscles to hoist him, but with some effort he, too, was lifted off the floor. He was stiff, breathing hard– No, gasping, as if any amount of air would save him.
Nothing would.
She tied him in place next to his son, then stepped back to inspect her work. The child had gone still, his open eyes glassy, but his life still clinging to him, no matter how barely.
The father might take longer to perish, or else his body would be too heavy for his internals to carry him for long. Maybe they would give, rip out of his body and send him crashing to the floor. That would surely kill him.
But no matter how slim their chances of survival already were… She would take no chances. They were going to die. No one would be able to save them, even if someone stumbled upon them too quickly.
Her knife was allowed to do this part as well. A simple stab into both of their necks to sever the flow of blood to and from their heads—even the son twitched and gurgled when she did that—and they might bleed out faster than they would have otherwise, shortening their suffering–
But that was a price she was willing to pay to guarantee they would perish.
——————————————————————
Hunajah opened and closed the door to the small apartment she shared with her baby as quietly as she could as she returned from her mission. Her clothes she had changed to clean ones and washed the worst of the blood off herself in the river, discarding her bloodied gear in it as well. She would still need a thorough bath to remove all evidence from herself, but that would be done easily enough.
Before she went to their small bathroom, though, she stepped over the creaking floorboards to the closed door to Nura’s room and carefully cracked it open to peek inside. The light of her lantern revealed her baby’s sleeping face, their right eye still tightly bandaged, but the rest of them looking peaceful.
And her rage was somewhat quelled by the knowledge that the ones responsible had met their ends at her very own hands. Justice had been served, and she would never allow herself to fail Nura in this manner again. Her child would grow up safe and happy, so unlike herself. She would give them a better life than hers ever was.
Content in the knowledge her baby was safely asleep in their bed, she closed the door with a soft smile before padding over to the bathroom to make herself a warm bath. If she had her way, Nura would never know that she was gone for a single moment that night—and certainly she would never tell him the why of it. She would let the dust settle for a while before they would leave this accursed city and move somewhere quieter, more peaceful.
There, they would be happy and enjoy the rest of their childhood to the fullest. This, she quietly swore.
