The Heaviest Burden – A Swiss Ghoul One Shot
Swiss had lived quite an unfortunate life before his equally unfortunate times in the Ministry. But, of course, in the pits, he wasn’t called Swiss. His mother gave him the name Gravissonus – the heaviest burden. Or, my hc for Swiss' life in the pits, post-summoning and leading up to the most recent change in the Ghoul line-up.
Words: 5.4k
CWs/Tags (bc they are basically the same thing here): Backstory, Swiss needs a hug, and therapy, toxic/abusive family, physical punshiment, self-harm, substance issues, toxic behaviours (bc Swiss doesn't know how to deal with his emotions), suicide attempts, and using your body/sexual favours as payment. All are sort of references/mentions but they’re definitely there and definitely happen.
A/n: I'm just going to apologise now... :D
Gravissonus was a little all-element Multi which in itself is quite a rarity. Both from all-element Multis being very dangerous pregnancies that often ended in disaster, but also been as Multis that couple with single element Ghouls mostly produce off-spring of that single element. So, when Gravissonus’ Fire Ghoul mother started an affair with an all-element Multi, she had every arrogant confidence that any results would easily be covered by her Fire element. But, Gravissonus made his entrance with all his elements and his now-step-father, also a pure Fire Ghoul, knew what his mate had been getting up to.
Gravissonus looked nearly like any other Fire kit when he was born – just like his older siblings. It was the ever-so-slight green tinge to his claws, a faint star or two in his horns, his golden eyes, the crackle of Quintessence that came with his birth, his thicker hair and darker skin that gave him away as not one of his line.
He was the only Multi he knew, and he was never told of his birth father. All he was told was that he was a filthy cross-breed like Gravissonus. He was never educated on a Multi’s traditions, nor was he included in the Fire traditions of his family. He wasn’t allowed in the nest with his parents or siblings and wasn’t allowed anything but the scraps of food leftover after his family had their fills.
And when he was just four-years-old, and his mother’s belly swelled once more, he was allowed nowhere near the little Ghoulette that grew inside. The fall of his parents’ mateship was blamed on him, and the kit they made to try and bring their joy back couldn’t see any risk from being tainted by an insignificant shit stain such as Gravissonus.
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Anala, her name was. She was presented before the family as they built pyres for her, scented her relentlessly to cover up that newborn smell, and was given a birth amulet engraved with her family’s heritage and protection wards to carry her through life. Gravissonus may not be able to remember that far back in his own life, but his family constantly reminded him that he never had those rites as he wasn’t worthy – not with all the trouble he brought with his mere existence.
One time, when everyone was asleep, he crawled over to little Anala and looked at the amulet tied to her leather-hide blanket. Even as the tiny kit he was, he wasn’t surprised to not see his name on the stone.
There was a time when he was five-years-old and he was woken in the night by Anala crying her tiny lungs out and everyone else fast asleep in the shared nest around her. Gravissonus was always told to stay away, to not even look at her, but his tiny heart hated the sound of his sweet, innocent sister crying. He toddled over from his tiny nest - apart from that of his family’s - and shushed the little Ghoulette. He didn’t hold her as he knew he could drop her. Rather, he traced two small fingers from her forehead down to the tip of her nose, flowing some calming Quintessence and singing the nonsense lullabies he’d made up to soothe himself through the nights. She calmed, and he went back to sleep.
In the morning, he was rudely awoken by his older brother kicking his nest apart with him in it. When he startled and scurried out of the wrecked pile of off-cuts of hides and moss, he was screamed at by his parents. They could smell the Quintessence on her, and knew it was him that soothed her.
“You know you are to have nothing to do with her!”
“How dare you use that filthy, tainted magic!”
“You’re so useless, it’s pathetic!”
“You really do ruin everything! She’s crying again now!”
When little Gravissonus tried to say it was the shouting making her cry, his head felt like it was about to come clean from his shoulders with the smack he received. It wasn’t anything he wasn’t already used to, but this one hurt more both physically and mentally. Physically, from the intensity and literal heat of the hand. Mentally, because he just wanted to help, and he did! She calmed so quickly.
He cried for hours after that, trying to use what little he had in the way of an Air and Water affinity to cool his cheek down. In the reflection of the lake he ran to, he could see the handprint that stayed there for days after.
All his family had matching red amulets tied to their loincloths, in keeping with Fire Ghoul tradition and carved into triangles to match the symbol for their element. But as he was constantly reminded, Gravissonus wasn’t a real Fire Ghoul. He, and his siblings, were also constantly reminded to not go near a certain cave, just under half a day’s walk from their homestead. They were all told that Hellbeasts nested there and so they shouldn’t go. But even as a seven-year-old, Gravissonus called bullshit because he was sure that he would be put at the mouth of it as an offering if that was the case.
One day, after yet another argument with his parents, he walked off to literally and metaphorically cool down. He didn’t even realise he was at that cave until he was at the opening to it. His golden eyes glowed for light as he went in, drawn by some odd instinct, and he couldn’t scent a single living thing. Just mould and mildew and damp like any old cave. As he ventured deeper, something almost felt comforting to him being there. Gravissonus doesn’t remember ever feeling such an emotion until that moment. When he reached the end of the small cave, he found a very tattered makeshift nest. Patting around it for anything he could take for his own makeshift nest, he found an amulet.
Except this one wasn’t red, like Fire Ghouls’; it was triangular but it was swirled through with every colour of the elements. Red, purple, green, white and blue lay underneath engravings of a family line and numerous protection wards. Gravissonus read the names on there, they mostly seemed to be the names of Fire Ghouls with a few other elements here and there. His little mind liked the very small chance that this could have been where his mother met with his true Sire, and this was that Ghoul’s birth amulet that perhaps fell off his loincloth – and all-element Multi with his main element being Fire, just like Gravissonus.
Gravissonus clung to that belief just as he did the amulet itself. Every night he clutched it to his chest, and in his prayers to their Dark Lord, he prayed that his Sire would come back to find his amulet, that he would come and find him. Gravissonus could finally know another Multi – his own Sire - and he could be saved from his family.
But, Gravissonus wouldn’t find his saviour for a long while yet.
More mental torture, abuse and maltreatment from his family came for the next several years. His older siblings coached Anala into the same cruelty as the rest of them although she didn’t understand why. She was blindly following a hatred she didn’t understand at the instruction of the older siblings meant to protect her while Mother and Father hunted.
She would half-heartedly join in on the name-calling, and isolation – thoughtlessly following her family’s example. The physical side of things she never got too involved with. Maybe a smack every now and then but she never really wanted to hit her older brother. Often she was held back from the brawls and fights anyway been as she was so small, her claws not even fully grown in and sharpened yet.
Whenever Gravissonus would take off from his family, having to hide his tears that came practically every day, Anala would follow. She’d ask where he was going, why he was sad, why he never did anything with the family. He knew that if he ever said a word to her or crouched to her eye-level to explain then they’d both be in for it, and he could never do that to such a bright and innocent soul.
In his prayers for his saviour, he started to pray that she would never become as toxic and rotten as the rest of their family. She was born to try and fix everything but his parents were too consumed by hate and malice by then. They simply existed and lived in spite of the family’s shame-bringer. Gravissonus considered it a miracle that she wasn’t poisoned in the womb by the hostile aura of their mother and the acrid nature of their father.
Gravissonus had his spot in the nearby woods he would go to when he needed away from his family. He’d long scorched it with the emotions he would contain and then let explode. But it was his “cool-down” spot, so to speak. She followed him there once, succeeding yet another argument with his family (he dared to help fan the flames of a campfire that was about to die while no one was looking). Sobbing in his burnt woods, the amulet clutched to his chest as he rocked himself, he begged Satan, and every demon that forged his elements to let him be free of it all.
He barely registered the tiny little arms that wrapped around his neck and started singing the same nonsense-lullabies he had wrote for himself. When he realised she was there, he immediately backed out of her hold, scooting backwards from her.
“Anala, no. You can’t be near me.” He said, fear in his voice for them both.
“Why?” The little Ghoulette said with a tilt of her head, “You’re my family too. You’re sad.”
“You know I’m not a true part to this family. We don’t share the same Sire. You need to go before you get in trouble because of me.” He pleaded with those round eyes.
“But you are my brother.” She said, taking a step forward and reaching a small hand to cup Gravissonus’ cheek. He almost melted into his little sister’s touch, not remembering ever being touched in anything even remotely close to cared-for. He soon caught himself though and backed away again, standing this time so she couldn’t reach him.
“Anala, we can’t be together. You need to leave.” He looked back through the tree and could already see Mother starting to look and call for her, “See? Your Mama is calling for you. Go!” He hated to be stern to her, but he needed to keep her safe. If he could be useful for one thing, it should be that.
“Not without you.” She said with a smile. Clearly all nine years of her life had gone into being a little shit in the cutest way possible.
“You don’t understand.” He said, kneeling down and looking into those fiery red eyes, “All that shouting and hitting they do to me? They’ll do it to you if they know you’re with me and fuck knows what I’ll get, so you need to go, Anala. Now.” He stood again and started directing her back out to the tree line. Every sibling had been subject to their parents’ physicality, and there was no reason to suspect Anala was immune.
She fought him, that bright spark of fire in her proving powerful, but he was stronger. As soon as she was far out enough, he ran back to his clearing and grew bushes and brambles and thorns in the way so she couldn’t come back through.
Turns out she very much tried. When he returned from the clearing he could see the scrapes on her arms from the thorns and brambles, alongside a hot red-mark on her face from a smack. His heart broke at that. His nose almost broke too from the punch he got from his mother’s mate.
Gravissonus doesn’t remember what exactly was said to him. He’d been called useless and berated for ruining everything so many times over the years that all the repeated and tired insults just blurred into one. What he does remember was fixing his own nose with his Quintessence, being forbade to help heal Anala’s cuts, and asked one simple question.
“You can hunt and forage for yourself, yes?” His step-father asked.
“Yes, sir.” He answered, not meeting his eyes as he’d never been allowed to do that.
“Good.” His mother said, “Then you have no reason to take up room in this family any longer.”
And just like that Gravissonus had been kicked out from his family, if he was even a part of it to begin with.
It was a moment he’d practically waited for all 14 years of his life up until that point. Been as he owned nothing but that amulet – kept tied to the inside of his loincloths to keep it hidden and safe - he nodded and walked away. He felt his siblings kicking up dirt and rocks after him, could sense his parents’ smug sneers at finally getting rid of him, and he heard Anala begging for him to stay or for her to go with him.
He kept walking though. He walked until the sun went down and he foraged for his dinner. He was a twiggy little thing, always scraping the bottom of the pan for food. So when he only found a few berries, and a few mushrooms that were mostly okay he sat down to eat them, happy he could eat them all without them being snatched.
He was younger than most Ghouls are when they leave their families and clans, but Gravissonus was okay for a time, for the first few years in fact. Happy to not be berated for breathing every day and happy to not dread what he’d be blamed for next. He was blamed for being born rather than his mother being blamed for cheating. He was blamed when a hunt he had no part in failed. He once got the blame for his older brother’s mating proposal being rejected, so nothing was off the table in that respect.
What he absolutely could blame himself for though, was the lifestyle he fell into.
Multis were shunned and pushed away enough for not being a single element, so many clans didn’t want them. Lots of Ghouls, like Gravissonus’ family, were obsessed with element purity. They had been pure Fire Ghouls for centuries before he came along to ruin it, and with every other element at that.
Multis had a reputation for being the most sexual of Ghouls – even more than the flirty and alluring Water Ghouls that reproduced like ecological terrorism was the most casual pastime imaginable. That reputation, though, comes from them having no other choice…
Gravissonus fashioned a lute from a tree and paid a luthier for strings with his body. He’d go near clans and offer performances that would end with paying for his company as well his voice. He’d spend a few days crossing over a mountain range and he’d let the Earth Ghouls take what they needed to bless the passage. He’d please the insatiable Water Ghouls in exchange for fresh drinking water, or beg knowledge from Quints for the price of their pleasure.
He was rather thankful to have lost his virginity before having to resort to this. At least he now knew what his knot was and that it inflating didn’t mean his dick was about to burst from the inside out. He wasn’t exactly given sex-ed before laying with his first Ghoulette…
Some encounters he did genuinely enjoy and was treated well, but ultimately there was no pretence of emotion. It was all a business transaction, at the end of the day.
He did what he had to do to survive, and he did what he had to do to cope too. His less-than-stellar education in foraging had led to a few accidental trips on mushrooms he didn’t know had that effect. Now though he knew. And he picked them on purpose. He’d also pay for the fermented fruit wines that seemed to make everything feel a little lighter for a few hours too.
There was the mental effect of his lowly life as well, of course. It wasn’t like he had a support system to help work through the abuse from his family, or the false pretence of being okay with his existence now. On those days he’d feel so numb, he made himself feel something. At least the scars made it look like he’d fought against something - other than himself - and won. Especially the claw marks across his chest.
But he survived. That was the main thing.
One day, as he was preparing to barter with some Quints for knowledge of an upcoming Winter (or, as close as you can get to such a season in Hell) he felt a dull ache in his chest. He doubled over in a howl as that ache turned into a throbbing and searing pain that tugged at what felt like his very soul, and slowly branched out to every molecule of his being. In his fear, believing death was practically imminent, he clutched that amulet close to his chest, leaving everything else behind as he was unknowingly summoned.
After nearly a decade of being by himself, he opened his eyes to a dark stone chamber, filled with…
Well, they weren’t Ghouls, Gravissonus could scent and see as much. They were… pale, and didn’t have horns or claws or a tail and the one in front of him had one white eye and one green.
It was explained that he was summoned to Earth. He would live alongside a few other Ghouls, but mostly humans in this Abbey that worshipped Satan. He would help with spreading His message, and he would be given safety and security and be nurtured.
As soon as he figured out that part of the summoning included the Gift of Tongues, and he could instantly speak this English of the humans, he begged the one in front of him for a new name. Then he could start over for good, truly leaving everything else behind.
The human brought something from his pocket and handed it to him, pressing it to his palm.
“It is a multi-tool, known as a Swiss Army knife. I believe you will be just as, if not more useful than it. I’d give you the name Swiss, if you’ll have it.”
He nodded. Swiss nodded.
Any name that wasn’t his birth name was acceptable and preferred as far he was concerned.
Slowly, Swiss said goodbye to his old life and replaced it with his new one. He ate more than he ever had in one go, laid in a real nest made of plush blankets that laid atop a soft mattress, and he was shown kindness by the Ghouls that were now his pack. He soon learned too that his body wasn’t expected to be payment for every little thing he needed…
But that didn’t stop his kind’s reputation from following him.
He knew he acted fairly provocatively but that was on purpose. What wasn’t purposeful was how it got out of hand, and quickly.
Swiss would only go to the Siblings for some carnal company once or twice a week, if that. Even then it was only those he was genuinely attracted to and had already spent some time getting to know and flirt with. He enjoyed that attention - the whispers and looks he’d get from the vast majority he’d yet to learn the names of, the propositions that he’d turn down or promise for another time. It was refreshing to have control over it like that.
He went on tour and acted… less-than-savoury in front of the crowds. When he got back, suddenly he wasn’t this urban legend who you were extremely lucky to be known by. He soon turned into a commodity, a given, something to be passed around and used. It was like sleeping with him was the unofficial last step to a Sibling’s initiation and for some reason, he just couldn’t say no.
Many of the humans thought they were entitled to him and his body, slipping invites for hook-ups and orgies into his pockets or fully dragging him into empty rooms and cupboards for quickies. His carefully crafted front made it look like he enjoyed it all, loved the attention still but truthfully, he hated everything about it.
His skin never felt clean enough. He barely felt like a living Ghoul anymore. He barely was sober anymore.
Turns out, humans also have some great and easily accessible ways to get intoxicated. He drank and/or got high more days than not, and he vaped nearly every chance he got.
It was like the pits, except so much worse. At least back there, he could get something other than self-loathing from his encounters. Up here? He got nothing and it was all his fault. The other Ghouls just stayed to their packs, so why couldn’t he do the same? Why couldn’t he say no?
Later on, he would figure out that being treated like dirt and kicked out of his family left such a scar that he pushes aside his own sanctity to make sure he’s accepted, and keep his place topside and not incur the wrath of the Clergy.
After the Prequelle tours ended, Copia now Papa and Swiss having likely slept with just about everyone in the Abbey that had an attraction to him, he spiralled. He would never escape his own hatred and stupidity. Topside was meant to be his break, his fresh start, and he fucked it up.
His parents were right. He does ruin everything.
He was a worthless little shit-stain to the universe and he could truly never be happy. Even within his pack, his permanent low mood and inebriation was causing rifts. His refusal for help, snapping at them to leave him alone. He’s heard Rain crying about it, Dew’s harsh but albeit cleverly crafted insults, he’s felt Aether doling out Quintessence to keep everyone calm and Cumulus helping everyone feel comforted too.
He already had a wide collection of scars across his arms and chest and legs but adding to them didn’t give the same relief as usual. One night, with new slashes on his chest, his legs and stomach, he ran into the forest. As he realised this is just what he did in Hell, it was another reminder of how he’d never truly escape.
His feet smacked against the ground so hard and fast that he was surprised he didn’t manage to take off. Exhaustion caught up to him when his legs turned to jelly, collapsing into a heap in a clearing as he sobbed at how hopeless it all was. In that moment, he really found no light to keep living for…
Mountain had an insane relation to the forest. He could sense everything that happened within it, and so when he felt such a distressed soul running in, he followed. His instincts also told him it was a fellow Ghoul. He got there in no time flat and would never forget the sight of Swiss lying there with his own claws in his chest.
“NO!” Mountain cried over and over again as he ran over. The Multi was still breathing and still had a heartbeat but his fingers were flexing, trying to reach and dig for the organ that kept him going as blood poured from the wounds.
Mountain didn’t know how to help. He’d scented blood from Swiss’ self-harm before through their shared bedroom wall and he knew how to help that but this was something entirely apart. So the giant gathered Swiss into his arms and ran as fast as he could to the infirmary.
Swiss blacked out part way there, barely conscious anyway from the moment his claws started piercing his skin. He woke up in the infirmary, Mountain at his bedside and holding his hand as he whispered prayers for the Multi. Swiss twitched a little and whined when he realised that he was in soft restraints so he couldn’t hurt himself again.
When Aether came in, the Multi swore them both to secrecy. He would not let anyone else know about his inner torture. He refused Aether’s offer for help, and wouldn’t tell them why he tried what he did or why he would claw himself so much to leave all those scars on his body too.
The two begrudgingly agreed.
When Swiss was released from the infirmary, he finally looked in the mirror at his chest. Among the self-inflicted slashes across his pecs, there now lay 5 scars in little dots from where his claws tried to rip out his own heart.
Aether and Mountain both were very vigilant with subtly checking for any new marks, so Swiss would hurt himself with sex – letting the physical hurt of feral sex, or the numbness after free-use scenes, or just the overall mental pain of being passed around the Siblings like a blunt – be where he got what he wanted. He’d have some nights he’d drink and smoke himself to fitful sleeps that would end in someone else’s bed because then at least he could dissociate and fall away from the world.
It was all a viscous cycle that never ended and Swiss positively hated himself.
He saw a small reprieve when Sunshine was summoned. And she was the first other Multi he’d ever met in his lonely existence.
He spent a short-while just with her, helping her adjust to life topside and the both of them happy to be with another of their kind. Sunshine wasn’t of all elements like Swiss, rather she was Fire-Earth-Air aligned, but neither cared. They were both still Multis, and Swiss felt the irony suffocating him whenever he told her that she didn’t have to use her body anymore to get by, and she could choose whoever she wanted to be with.
Tours were his reprieve. He could get away from the Siblings and Clergy that always wanted his body and was forced to not smoke so much thanks to long trips on the buses. It was just rude and besides that, it would trigger Cumulus’ asthma.
He felt like himself when just surrounded by his pack and no expectations to always be fucking them at every turn – that’s just what they all liked anyway, but it was different with them because Swiss actually wanted it and enjoyed it every time. Also, they all caught on to how sometimes Swiss pushes himself for the sake of others, so if they suspected that was happening, they’d make it seem like they fell out of the mood instead, and Swiss could never hide the little flicker of relief he would feel in those situations.
They got back from tour and all the Siblings that had survived for weeks without him would throw themselves back at him.
During lockdown, when Swiss truly had no escape, he tried taking his life again. This time he was in his nest, and he’d used his time with the Siblings to scrounge together every drug he could. He took it all, drank and smoked as much as he could and waited for the overdose to take him.
It was Aether that found him that time – asking for the Multi’s bag of guitar picks been as his had been misplaced. When he got no answer from Swiss, he pushed into the room and nearly passed out from shock of Swiss on the bed, and on the verge of death. Mountain was closest to help Aether carry Swiss down to the infirmary so he could get his stomach pumped out and see some help for the recent self-inflicted damages. Again, Swiss woke up to them both praying this time, and again he made them promise not to tell a soul.
The Earth and Quint were both hoping that by in fact keeping this secret, Swiss would trust them and would eventually open up to them about what demons were lurking inside.
Mountain had slightly more insight. He would sometimes overhear Swiss crying in the dead of night when he thought no one else was awake, or he’d make “jokes” that seemed a little bit too real when they would get high together. The Earth Ghoul knew that Swiss had a lot of insecurity that he’d hide under his cocky façade. He knew Swiss was very insecure specifically about not finding someone to love him.
The pack was open with each other, as was typical for Ghouls. But Dew and Aether were on the road to mating for sure, Mountain and Rain were sappy as hell and usually always together so it was only a matter of time for them too, the girls were all enraptured with each other, and so where did that leave Swiss? Well, the arms of hundreds of Siblings, of course. Trying to fill a void that was living on a phantom hope of being filled.
Mountain would try to pry at the surface but Swiss’ walls were so high that he couldn’t ever climb high enough to peak the tip of his antlers over the top.
Soon, the whole pack felt as if their Multi was falling away for good this time. Aether and Mountain often shared glances that worried everyone but couldn’t ever get them to break confidentiality with the Multi. His golden eyes were so dull and bloodshot every time they saw him and the smell of sweat and sex clung to him so heavily that they could barely remember what Swiss’ natural scent was like.
Every time they tried to reach out, they were turned away and yelled at. They would be told not to bother because they never had before; they don’t understand anything; that they just need to leave him be.
Mountain felt his heart drop to his stomach one night when Cirrus came to him. She often liked to fly at night, when her raven wings would blend into the night sky and she could hunt like she did in the pits. But she told him that when she went up to the roof, she saw Swiss sitting on the edge and he looked… contemplative.
Swiss was indeed thinking about it. Everything was so hopeless once again so he went where he, foolishly, thought no one would find him. He rolled that Swiss army knife Copia gave him in his first moments on Earth and wondered if the human knew how cataclysmically wrong he was when he gave the tool to him and gave him his name. He tried to play it off like he was just having a sleepless night when he felt the Air Ghoulette’s hand run across his shoulders as she sat down next to him. Swiss has no clue if he was successful with his lie but he knows that Cirrus didn’t fly as far away as she usually did on that night.
The only reason he didn’t throw himself down before being found was because something was churning in his stomach to stay. A tiny flicker of hope that he can’t remember ever feeling before. Not when he found that amulet that he still has hidden in his belongings, not when he was freed from his family, and not even when he was summoned.
It was a few days later that Copia announced there would be two new summonings. But that tiny ember of hope he felt fanned a little brighter and he almost felt giddy at the warm sensation for the first time in, likely, his entire life. He didn’t understand why it felt like this when just days ago he was ready to fling himself from the top of the Abbey. But he felt like this now with just the mention of these summonings.
Something urged Swiss he should stick around for that. His prayers to be free from his family had long been answered. Maybe it was the time for his prayers for his saviour to be answered too…
One shot master post can be found here
