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𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐧 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐨𝐬’ chp. 6

pairing(s); simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader, johnny ‘soap’ mactavish x fem!reader, kyle ‘gaz’ garrick x fem!reader, john ‘bravo six’ price x fem!reader, werewolf!soap, harp crow hybrid!gaz, dragon hybrid!price, wraith!hybrid (?) ghost, phoenix!hybrid (?) reader

summary; new moon, before, and diplomacy

word count; 5.4k+ | chasin’ chaos masterlist

warning(s); monster au, dark twisted themes, normal cod violence, firearms, knives, combat, pinning (?), poly themes, death, r call sign is flatline, blood consumption, eventual smut, kissin, and language

A/n: trying to post every 3-5 days… don’t quote me

You all watch as Soap sits on hind legs, attention directed towards the moon. He pants softly with his tongue slightly darted out, his thick auburn fur keeping him protected from the occasional winds of the night. When the moon reaches its peak the Scott howls with a carrying pitch loud enough to hear for miles pass base.

“Calling for his pack.” Price clarifies eyes pointed at You and Ghost with a smirk that was all too knowing. Gaz clumsily howls back at the call; the wolf's head swivels, his eyes shifted from their domestic green to a glowing teal, the whites of his eyes now pitch black. You don't quite zone in on the conversation the dragon and harpy have –something about sitting out due to his wing you were sure– instead you tilt your head at the shifted sergeant and he mirrors you. The interaction makes you hum before you see the captain making his way to the field; he stands with his knees slightly buckled and his arms spaced away from his sides. The wolf playfully growls and the dragon's tail sways gently behind him.

“Alright lad, be gentle.” The four legged hybrid doesn’t waste another second, sprinting towards his locked target with precision head first into his chest. Johns sturdy though, and doesn't budge hopping on the back of his neck.

“Not bowling me over this time, son.” Johnny is quick to nudge him off his being and the man lands on his back, quickly moving out the way as the wolf went to pounce on him. You and Gaz watch as Ghost jumps over the wall landing on his knees with a thump immediately catching his attention.

“Alright, Johnny. Show me what you've got.” The skull masked wearing lieutenant quips. The sergeant immediately takes interest moving in a position to pounce, not taking note of Ghost's palms planted in the cut grass. When he goes to jump onto the masked lieutenant he misses; the wraith uses his shadows to push him up in the air using the upper ground to stare down at the wolf. Simon doesn't expect him to jump as high as he does, neither does he expect your familiar sparks of energy to nudge the wolf away. The sergeant lands on his paws force making his limbs slide through the dirt before coming to a stop.

“Hope you don't mind, pretty boy. They'll pull something if you're too rough.” You tease and you're sure you hear both men scoff while the shifted hybrid playfully growls at you before dashing off of his back legs. You're quick to move out the way as he topples over Simon in result of your place. Not who he was focused on but he plays all the same; he licks the lieutenant's stomach pushing up the black jacket to get to his skin. Price jumps on the wolf's neck loosely wrapping his arms around the base.

“You two enjoying yourself?” He calls out

“You could say that.”

“In a rough patch.”

“Need a nightcap, sir?” Kyle questions while Price cracks his neck rolling his shoulders; he eventually strayed away from the field.

“Probably stronger than that, Gaz. Later starts tomorrow, Simon, Y/n, take the the morning off. I’m guessing you’ll need it.” He hums at the sight of both his lieutenants while the Harpy snickers. You’re rubbing your palm on the underside of the wolf’s snout and Ghost takes place at the side of his neck. The Scott licks at your shoulder; vibrating with hums underneath the skull masked lieutenants person, tail swishing up and down.

Eventually the captain and sergeant call it a night leaving the three of you alone. You make way to more scheduled area, finding stray piles of tarps and bug out bags to lie on. Your eyes avert at the night sky, connecting random stars to make odd shapes in the scheduled sanctuary of your mind; something you hadn’t done since before… You’re quick to shift your eyes to meet the gaze that burns at your temples before continuing your bidding at the sky.

“Spit it out” You tempt plainly, you have your phoenix mask swept over your face, its orange and red tones contrasting against the night. Others have trouble reading you but never Simon.

“The anniversary’s next week.” He prompts back, it’s more of a statement than a question; the wraith knows damn well it is, practically branded in his memory with a hot rod. You snort at the choice of words he uses, shaking your head in response.

“Just another day.” You shrug seemingly unbothered but he knew better. The way– your shoulders got a tad stiff before resetting to their lax position, the slight pause in your subconscious movement, the way your lips slightly part before closing. The tell tale signs he stubbornly refused to ignore.

“Think I haven’ been around you long enough to know when you're arsein’ me?” The skull masked lieutenant glares at the side of your face and you huff beginning to get irritable at his proding.

“Are you seriously doing this right now?” You hiss out returning the hostile look with just as much intensity.

“Tell me when's a good time for you then, love? Humor me.”

“Don't sta-”

You both suddenly break away at the sound of whimpering beneath you. Soap whines, lying on his stomach paws situated underneath his snout; he rubs his fur coated body against the both of you nudging your shoulders with the tip of his nose. Simon scratches behind his ears and you pat the side of his jaw. After a moment you part your lips to speak.

“Ghost-”

“Simon” He corrects you and you fight the urge to roll your eyes.

“It was a long time ago, Si. I've come to terms with it.” You lower your body to the ground using your shoulder to prop up your head. Simon has a distant, hesitant look in his eyes and when he averts his gaze you place a hand on his jaw redirecting his attention to your person. He huffs against your hand, a bit stiff before he settles into the warmth of your palm. You lean down to press your lips against the corner of his masked mouth; When you go to pull away he wraps a hand around your back pulling you closer to the warmth of his body. He lift a hand to his face moving his balaclava to sit atop of the bridge of his slightly crooked nose –result of years of it being broken and reset– his scared face is no stranger to you and even as you only see a quarter of its surface you could recall every scar that littered his pale skin. His lips meet yours and even though you can’t see it you picture the scar dragging from the bottom of his cheek to end at the the middle of his cheek.

You're both interrupted again and it humorous of how annoyed the wolfs growl sounds. He tugs the sleeve of Ghost’s jacket pulling the blonde back a few inches –not– enough room to squeeze himself between the two of you opting to roll on his broad back. You can't help but let out a chuckle at Simon's face while Johnny whines for your attention giving the best puppy dog eyes he can muster. The skull wearing lieutenant rolled his eyes as you silently cave rubbing your fingers up and down the four legged mutts stomach.

“Don't pout.” You tease a smirk on your face at the lieutenant whose frown seems to deepen as you called him out.

“‘M not.” He sighs for the umpteenth time as you all begin to settle, getting as comfortable as you could; trying to accommodate each other's bodies. Simon watches as your blinks delay and the rises in your chest become further apart in time. Johnnys already out, having settled on his stomach paws set underneath his chin. The wraiths not too far behind, –while no stranger to the absence of sleep– he’s not sure how he feels about the sudden exhaustion that overcomes him.

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Simon groggily peels his eyes open; scratching the side of his bare head, the blonde shaved sides prickling the pads of his fingers. His eyes dart at the sound of movement at his side and the lieutenant is quickly gone rigid. The brunette scott –returned to his human skin– is pressed against his side, a leg thrown over his. However what makes the wraith's feathers ruffle is the wolf's attire, nothing.

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“Lt.” You can feel his presence before you see him, slowing the speed in your step until it comes to a full halt. Your head shifts over your shoulder, your eyes piercing as you reply back with his call sign falling from your masked lips. While the brunette adores it, he can't help but yearn for the softened exterior of your eyes he remembers. You note the sergeant is more decent than when you left him, having opted to part ways from the two men in the wee hours of dawn. He grins with a tilt of his head, dark mohawk complying with it.

“Not ‘Johnny’ anymore?”

“Getting your lieutenants mixed up, sergeant. You're slipping.” You muse sarcastically moving to turn on your heel.

“Pretty Boy then?” He stops you again.

“No need to read into it.” You surrender after a while and it's funny how quickly his face shifts to one of a drunk —peely, embarrassed, and comical beads of sweat.

“Just assessing the damage from last night. My wolf is- I know he can be a lot.” He views you from the peripheral of his vision, arms crossed over his chest, fiddling with the fabric of his tshirt.

“He’s you isn't he? Oh, I see. Embarrassed are you?” You finally direct your attention back to his being, eyes slightly squinted with a teasing undertone to your voice. The sergeant doesn't seem impressed at the humor you seem to find in the situation. You can see his poking canines as he parts his lips to rebuttal.

“I'm allowed to be.” He practically huffs.

“Don't be. He was a real good boy.” You hum patting his cheek with a gloved hand, it throws you a bit when he takes your wrist into his.

“Deity-” He starts

“Flatline.” You correct, trying your hardest not to hiss it out through your teeth. You mind breeches pestering Price for a golden star. Though, through it all the scott never dropped your hand.

“I woke up smelling like you two. Am I supposed to read into that?” You stare at him for a second and he notes how much easier he thinks it is to read Ghost over you; despite your same shared preference of a mask the scott couldn't understand how the other three did it.

“Up to you, Johnny.” You state plainly and he wants to scream at the mellowness of your tone; a frown adorning his lips while his eyebrows scrunch.

“...Wanna learn something new about werewolves, ma’am? Taking back control after going full wolf- it's like surfacing after a dive. Things are murky sometimes but what my wolf did, I remember it all.” The Scott’s clawed hand adorns yours, not waiting for you to give a proper response. As he goes on he slips off your glove, orange glowing cracks kiss the surface.

“What he smelled, what he saw, what he tasted.” Your fingers twitch against your will when the brunettes tongue darts, out swiping over the surface of your palm, never breaking the eye contact you shared. Your lips part and before you could speak the two of you are on guard as a voice booms down the hall.

“Aircraft in landing zone. Personnel respond.”

“...We're not done here.” You mutter in passing, shoving your glove back over your bare hand.

Soap was so damn close.

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Ghost could smirk at the scene of you making your way out to the landing; Soap following in suit. You move to stand next to the blonde fixing him with a pointed gaze that he raises his hands at in surrender. Boots clank against the metal ramp leading out to the open. Two men walk out one with patches of tan fur running up his arm with spots of a jaguar; he could shift between two of something –you couldn't quite recall– his cat-like tail mirroring the pattern of the fur above. The other you couldn't make much of due to his gear other than his tail; a little more fluffy then his partner but less fluffy then Soaps.

“The corps wasn't supposed to drop you off until tomorrow” Simon hits the head on the nail, never the one for small talk, beating around a bush.

“We know- but our window has shortened. That cockatrice was a bad omen. We sent word of the change of plans last night” Alejandro, –you recall now– stands with his arms crossed over his chest. Soap somewhat sheepishly grins taking fault.

“Uh… we were busy. Full moon.” Rudy –it had to be– nudges the back of his partner's neck and if the look on his face didn't tell him ‘I told you so’ the mutters from his lips did.

“Can't be helped. I'm Sergeant John ‘Soap’ Mactavish. That's Ghost and Flatline.” The Scott, quick to break formalities pointed at the two of you with his thumb before shaking the pair's hand.

“Lieutenant Simon Riley and Y/n Y/l/n! Good to put a face to a name, so to speak.” You hate how eager he is at the drop of your name, like he knows you. Your shoulders tense and the tips of your fingers tingle.

“Real reputation you two have. Real mean sons of bitches even before-”Another thing you couldn't stand were reptiles and here was a literal snake in front of you; talking about you in your own base. Valerias in front of you quicker than you'd like. The python haired woman squints her faint green eyes at your person, scales take place up her arms in patches. Simon's shadows project up his arms more opaquely and the Scott swore he could see your irises flicker that burning orange.

“C’mon this way. Captain Price’s got more experience being the welcome committee.” The wolf tries to make light of the situation with a stiff chuckle, sweeping the trio away from the two of you. When he averts his gaze over his shoulder he frowns at the sight of your tense selves and it deepens when he catches your form slipping through the doors of base in the opposite direction with some pep to your step. Simon opting to stay outside however, unknowingly turning his back to the brunette's gaze rubbing his palm down the back of his neck.

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“Heard from Soap our new arrivals made a bad first impression.” Price hums coming to stand next to the skull wearing lieutenant who didn’t move to stand from his seated position. The wraith unclenched his fist and clenched them again in a rhythm. His shadow sat more stubbornly, traveling up his arms making their presence known instead of being the usual fly on the wall they were.

“He tell you wha’ I had for breakfast as well?” John shrugs, raising a brow, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

“Could ask. Would he know?” Simon looks at the captain through the peripheral of his eyes before directing his attention back in front of him. The dragon notes the slight dip in mask at his forehead signaling the scrunch of his eyebrows.

“…They knew who we were. Before.” The older hybrid moves to sit next to the wraith, one knee propped up. His wing twitches to expand around the back of the man next to him, his hoard. He silently gives into it.

“Contracts of silence only go so far. We knew people would talk. They’ve gone and made Johnny curious. He wouldn’t push either of you, you don’t have to tell him.” The brunette assures the blonde and he sighs.

“…No. I do. My part at least” It’s Prices turn to huff now a small smile on his lips.

“Deity’ll catch up. She’s already startin’ to poke and take interest.” Simon hums knowingly; John notes how the blondes shoulder just barely release pressure at the mere mention of his second lieutenant.

“Smoke with me, Riley.” It’s more of a statement than a question, as John holds out a cigar for the lieutenant to take.

“That an order, captain?” Simon take the brown lug in his hand

“I’m sure you’ll force me to make it one.”

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*about six years ago*

“Rare to see you hovering, captain.” The blonde hums —his sides are short and there’s only about an inch or two on the top— cigar pinched in between the skin of his index and ring finger. They both look down at the scene of you training your soldiers; –normals, that day– you were on track to be so fresh at the role but, they expected no less from you.

“Thought I’d come see your boys work through their drills.” The dragon drags the smoke, allowing it to settle in his lungs before letting it go. His wings sit strong on his back, the slight breeze he catches in them makes him think about taking a flight.

“You mean Vernon.” The lieutenant replied stiffly.

“He's lagging.” The captain confirms his observation aloud.

“I know. But he's the only one who came back from Roba alive. We’ll need him on strike” The blonde curates strategically as he watches you make the soldier run a lap.

“All logic with you.” Price grins around the tobacco, arms crossed against his chest.

“Well I’m not keeping him for sentimental reasons.” Ghost huffs; dog tag dangling from his neck while he leaned on the stone wall beneath him. He feels an itch in the small scar kissing his cheekbone, he doesn’t scratch.

“Try as you might, I know there’s a heart underneath that scowl, Riley.” The older dragon hums

“A sorry excuse for one.”

“Simon.” The lieutenant averts his gaze from the field to his captain.

“I’ll have to hang back on this one. Roba’s men had their gear fine tuned to ping my heat signature ever since our last run in.” The brunette hums averting his attention from the way your tank top begins to rise at the low of your back.

“And They ‘aven’t gotten hers?” The blonde questions tilting his head towards the field. John huffs out a laugh, shaking his head.

“There’s not much their tech could detect on a Phoenix. Her heat signature alone wouldn’t be able to be measured, make their system go to shit.” The lieutenant thinks it’s oddly fitting for you watching as you bark positions.

“Putting these boys in the hands of you two. So you’d better come back in one piece. That’s an order.” The clawed hand on his shoulder is warm and Simon doesn’t think twice before responding.

“…Copy that.”

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“Simon Riley. You’re a difficult man to crack. To think you’d break your own damn wrists to escape! I’d be pissed about the mess but hey- four less men I’ll need to pay, eh?” The light of the hallway is brighter than the fire of hell; it shines down on Simon’s body and he closes his eyes, head hanging low. The wooden chair he’s bound to is anything short of comfortable —his wrists are rubbed raw behind his back by the too tight ropes, his ankles are bound to the front post of the oak wood chair legs, and he feels the urge to throw up at the throbbing in his temple with the dried blood sticking to his forehead from an open wound.

“Ah well, you special forces guys are all nuts. But you know what they say about us chupacabras” Boots smack against the ground without much remorse, approaching him stealthily. Robs is truly a blob of flub, his stomach pokes over his pants sitting atop of his belt. Slim brown spikes —a shade lighter than his darker than his kept hair— placed in a line through the middle of his head, his ears are pointed at the tips, his thick bushy mustache starts at the top of his lips and wraps down to his thick chin.

“There's no hide we can't sink our teeth into.” The grin on his mouth is nothing but sinister, teeth sharp. Ghost can feel his breath on the crown of his head; can't find the urge to redirect his closed eyes, tilted towards the floor and before he knew it the presence right above his shoulder began to leave.

“Your man Vernon- he learned that the hard way. Was all too eager to squeal on you and your captain, once we really got started. But ah as far as rats go, not much of a prize.” The blonde lieutenant listened as the gruff man simply shrugged it off while nothing was simple about it.

“You though… Señor Riley… you're just a Human, mixed up in matters you’ll never understand.” Simon wants to throw up at the quick movement of his head; claws roughly slip into his scalp, the pulling of his hair making him grunt.

“What do you say huh? I'll cut you a deal, same as your girl. I let you go home and you squeal when I pull on your tail.” He tenses at the mention of you, he wonders if they've killed you since they split you up after trying to escape. They would all find a fate worse than death if –he could never see your eyes again, never could feel the warmth of the small smiles youd give specially to him and John, never hear how you defended their honor when they weren’t present to. He’d kill every last one of them.

“I'll even sweeten the deal- be good and you might even get a promotion, eh? Between the two of us, Captain Riley sounds much better than Price, no?” Simon is beyond trained for these situations, hell he's found himself in these situations it was a routine; Don't let them know they've broken you, don't panic –it makes it all the worse–, assume no one is coming for you, and keep your mouth shut. As the leader drops the hold on the lieutenant's hair he’s quick to grab his face squeezing with too much pressure.

“Well?”

“... I'd rather rip your tongue off and feed it to you” The tone of Ghost's voice could make the highest of killers shiver. It wasnt like he had an aspiration to do it, no. The honest, certainty could make the opposing man go rigid. Instead he huffs out a deep chuckle.

“That look in your eyes… I bet you really would. Crazy son of a bitch. Ah, well. That's what I get for trying diplomacy. Should've taken the deal pendejo. You're about to learn exactly why humans aren’t built for deputies between monsters.” Roba tosses his head, slashing his claws through the skin of his cheeks when he does so. The sting is nothing compared to the look in his eyes when he hears a voice all too familiar approaching the room.

“Get the fuck off me!” Simon struggles against his restraints as you’re dragged underneath your arms by two men who were all too rough; one being your own damn soldier. You look frail, your skin is covered in patches of dirt, they've stripped you to your bra –having the decency to let you keep your pants that are littered with splatters of blood–, and there's a cut reaching from the tip of your brow and down the skin of your lid ending at the beginning of your cheekbone. You're thrown to the cold stone floor given barely enough time to break your fall with your wrists. Your hair is wet, the curl toppling down your back at the weight of the water.

“Your girly… she's like you. I offer to make her a captain, just for a few tests on the wings. Let my boys do their research, didn't budge one bit.” The blonde curses something colorful at the chupacabra as his greasy palms slip to the back of your head, dragging you to be situated in front of the lieutenant. Roba nods at his men and Simon curses Vernon just as fluently as he pulls your arm to either side of you leaving your back open.

“You lay a finger on her and they won't be able to find all the pieces to you!” The leader laughs from behind him, walking like a lion stalking its prey before situating himself behind your struggling form.

“See what I don't think you understand is… If I can’t have what I want, no one else can have it either.” You feel the cold steel of the knife on your back and before you can register your bra is cut. The lieutenant roars as the undergarment falls to the floor. Adrenaline picks up as he tries to lift his body up and down to break the oak wood.

“How about your pretty bird… won’t sing no more eh?” Simon watches as your breaths begin to rise and fall too quickly; you were too young, too young to be a damn lieutenant, too young to be in special forces, too young to be here.

“Si.” His name falls from your lips with a gasp. Your eyes are cloudy and all of sudden there's a lump in his throat.

“You’re alright lovie. Look at me. Don’t take your eyes off me, alright?” He knows you can tell it’s an order by the firmness of his voice but, his tone is so soft with you. Always with you.

“Funny thing about the Phoenix, my friend. They have these freaky little… tendrils of nerves called queues. My men were trying to figure out where the hell they could be, your man here though… gave them an idea.” You don't know what you were expecting but it sure as hell wasn't a knife in your back. The scream is short of human; it wasn't a human noise, in fact. It served no purpose but to express its pain in all ways seeking out relief. You try to keep it together for Simon, you try not to scream –you fail. While the cold steel of the knife rips down the skin of your spine it's a contrast with the white blinding, burning, pain you feel. You can feel the connection from your wings fading, dying, and the panic in your body stills, they've broken you. You open your eyes and can see Simon struggling on his side against his restraints; the remains of the chair scattered not too far from him.

Tears flow down your face in a never ending stream and your hearing you didn't know you'd loss returns as Roba ends his assault at your tailbone. You don't feel anything; you don't feel how you’re lowered to the floor, the smacking of boots around you, or the slam of the cell door. Simon moves his ass, rocking himself until he was able to sit up and scoot to your fetal position. You shiver at the air on your back; the wound leaks crimson in a way that makes a mess of everything it touches, slowly mending itself together.

“You're alright, you're gonna be fine. They'll fix you up real good when we get home, yeah? ” You try to hold your anguish but the effort is fruitless. You shake your head, lips parting before they close again.

“I can't f-feel my wings, my w-wings.” His heart drops again at the pure pain in your voice that shakes your chest. You can't find it in yourself to stop crying and he doesn't tell you to. Something so sacred, the only thing left you had connected to your past life –ripped from right underneath you.

“I know lovie, I know. You're gonna be alright, we're gonna be alright.” The blonde doesnt know if he's reassuring you or himself; he doesn't care to find out.

It feels like ice poured down your back when the door is swung open and you’re ripped apart from each other again. This time just a few feet apart instead of rooms down. Your body feels like it knows what's going to happen before your mind does; you've seen this scene before. A new sense of adrenaline is found within you when you project the back of your head to smack into the soldier behind that wraps their hands around your wrist; you come to find that it's the brunette who betrayed your team and the crunch of his nose is all the more satisfying. You're not given much time to do anything before you're grabbed up again and you feel sick as the fanged leader's chuckle falls over the room. Roba reaches over to take a gun from another man behind you. He pulls the barrel back and it clicks as he walks in front of Simon –who's forced on his knees–, still giving you a clear view of the scene. His earthy brown eyes dart to you quickly as you shout then quickly switch to the being in front of him.

“Please! Roba!” You begged him. You begged to any God out there that could hear for help; Understanding that life was pain, another living being had learned. Your body aches as the men behind you tighten their grip as you thrash beneath their touch.

“Sweetheart.” The blonde calls out to you and your stomach drops at the pet name; he knows what's going to happen and a weight tugs at the organ in your chest. You're sobbing again –you can't remember if you ever stopped– while there's a hand that pulls at your hair keeping your gaze locked in front of you.

“Please. I'll tell you anything, please just let him go.” Begging must look short of pathetic on you while Simon sits there on his knees. You hate that look in his eyes, like he's signed his name on his contract of fate in black ink on a dotted line.

“It's too late.” It doesn't feel real when the gun goes off; your ears ring once more and you fight against the hold restraining you. You scream trying to get to Simon; they've actually done it, they killed him. The way his body falls to the floor so limply, so lifeless. The last time you try to dart out of your restraints the butt of a pistol meets your jaw, your vision is black.

*****

Wraiths are amorphous, semi-tangible beings born of strong desires for vengeance. Often mistaken for poltergeists or demons, wraiths are characterized by explosive bouts of anger and violence which manifest through black ‘smoke’ that cling and stains their skin.

Myths around the world depict wraiths as the great equalizer in a world where humans are comparably defenseless. Folklore depicts wraiths as humanity's last resort, a way to balance the scales against the might of monsters.

The risk of creating a hellbent killing machine would often deter mass pillaging and destruction and would send a message to those careless enough to leave a survivor.

In the birth of a wraith, myths highlight the necessity of being at a ‘graveyard’ when close to death, as the impending return to earth tricks The Reaper into complacency… only for the surely dead to go on living.

Simon Riley kicks at the roof of the box he's in, the wood eventually caves beneath the force of his feet. The thumps and slight moving of pebbles of dirt are unheard by no one near; he snarls around the white cloth wrapped around his head, situated in his mouth.

Wraiths are characterized by immense focus. Anger.

The lynchpin of their transformation is their stubbornness to die and their burning desire for retribution.

His short fingernails morph to claws ripping the ropes that bind his wrist; his teeth adapt fangs that snap the tension of the silencer in his mouth. Thick black streams of smoke crawl up his neck.

They are known as living spectres. Their bodies' death clings to with such passion, that even Mother Nature believes they are dead. More commonly, these beings are known by a simpler moniker.

He's a dead man crawling up from his grave, his eyes are unfound on his face clouded by the smoke that crowded them. His uncanny long tongue darts out his mouth as he huffs a puff of rage, fangs aching as he snarls.

“The one's death didn't want.”

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Locked in clocked in this whole chapter

Yay Ghost and Deity lore! (events that traumatically alter their brain chemistry)

does chat want a tag list?