Raef: Worthy

**Content Warning: Depictions of violence (some mention of torture). Mentions of depression and suicide.**

Metal whispered against the stone, flitting out
through the room before it was silenced as the tip of the blade caught in a
small crevice.  A poignant silence followed until being broken by a soft,
“Oh dear.”

“What?  Can’t -”

He held up a finger to still the orc’s tongue.
“You have no right to talk,” Raef said, tearing his gaze away from the blood
slick sword to look up at the orc inching his way closer and closer to the door
on the far side of the room. “Where do you think you’re going?”

The orc bared his chipped fangs, growling out so
his lips quivered and shook.   He didn’t answer.  His hand reached for the door handle --

-- *thud*.

Raef sighed as the orc began to scream and
wrench at the blade now securing his hand to the wall.  He lifted up his
sword and rested it on his shoulder. “Oh, no, no, no.  See...it’s very rude of you to leave without
saying good-bye.”  He took a step closer towards the fighter, tsking
softly.   He cocked his head, regarding
the other as if the orc was only mildly interesting.  Like a bug crawling
on a wall or paint beginning to dry. “Besides, we haven’t even *begun* our
conversation.”

“You fucker!”  The orc snarled as he tugged
harder at the blade. “I’m going to fucking kill you, you piece of -”

Before the last word could be uttered, Raef dug
out another blade hidden within his boot and flung it to pin both hands
together. “Again, you’re being rude.”  His steps were quick and long to
bring him closer to his struggling - the struggling orc.   If he thought of the fighter as a victim then
this would never get done and, as Anatoly had always said, there was a job that
needed finished.

The fighter spat at him and bared his fangs
again. “Fuck you, you motherfucker.”

Raef *tsk*ed again and he reached up to
twist the daggers in a little deeper. “One more chance to start being polite.”

~\*~

Azrael would hate him for what he was doing.
 He knew that.  He knew that just as
he knew that, deep down in that sunken region everyone had, he loved doing what
he was doing.  He was good at it and he always had been.

But he had forgotten.

A thin layer of skin dropped to the floor,
sticky and heavy with cooling blood.  It was amazing how quickly it cooled
once it was no longer in a body.  The orc
had long ago stopped screaming, even before the knife had ended his life.
 He couldn’t be like Anatoly and interrogate them for no reason; he
couldn’t put them through endless pain.
It was better to grant them a swift death when they had given, or didn’t
give, the information.

No one deserved torture.

“I’m sorry, Azrael,” Raef whispered as he
dropped the final strip to the ground and took a step back.  The tears on
his face had started to dry.  The orc had
only given him the name of another orc just like the one before him had.

There was no whisper of where the orc was that had killed Azrael, no
hint as to where the orc king was hiding out.  No one had told him that so
far.  Each death sent a sliver of guilt
through him, tearing through the hollow darkness that had consumed his heart
and his mind for the last year.  Each death made anger flood him only to
fade and leave him exhausted, wishing that he could just die and feel the cold
embrace of death.

He was tired, so very tired.

Raef stepped back before his knees shook and
gave way to force him to sit down heavily.  His forearms rested on his
knees, hands hanging down and loosely holding the dagger. “I’m so sorry…”

~\*~

“Good job.”

Raef stared at the lifeless body in front of
him, blood dripping down from her cuts to the cold floor she rested on.
 He felt sick to his stomach. “She said she didn’t know.”

“Sometimes people lie, *zaichik*.”
 Anatoly brushed back Raef’s hair, fingers grazing along the younger elf’s
skin. “You need to remember that.”

The hair on the back of his neck stood up and he
swallowed. “...what if...what if she was telling the truth?”

“She was a liar.  They always are.”
Anatoly’s voice dripped with venomous honey as he leaned in, lips pressed to
the tip of Raef’s ear. “Come now,, *zaichik*.  We should celebrate.
 You did well.”

~\*~

*...they always are…*

He learned that that was a lie.  Sometimes
they told the truth and, if they whispered it to him, he granted them their
reprieve.  He learned to tell in the dark underground world of Alabaster
and that knowledge was what guided his blade as it tore through flesh and
rendered throats speechless.

At first only names were given, but they were
names that weren’t helpful.  Paladins, fighters, barbarians that were low
ranking and refused to give up their information about who really was at fault.

 Their bodies dropped to the ground or hung from
trees.  One, the one who had called him a piece of shit, had been pinned
to a wall with his arms angled out and head between his feet.

Finally, after so long, one finally screamed out
a name in the throes of pain.

“*Bloodgrut!  It-It was Bloodgrut!*
 S-Stop!  Please!*”*

The priestess cried and begged, and he ended her
life with a quick flick of his wrist.  He didn’t skin her body or remove
her head.  He carefully cleaned her and
wrapped her in white linen.  Flowers adorned her as she was burned alive
and he dropped a charm on top of the line on her chest, the fabric just
starting to catch fire.   The silver Tree of Life would warp and it
would twist, but Bloodgrut would know what it was.

Finally he had a name.

~\*~

The glade had turned into an overgrown tangle of
weeds and once-pruned bushes.  It was only marred by the bare spot that
was little more than a mud pit now.  How
long had it been since he had come back here?  Two years?  Three?
He couldn’t remember anymore.

“Hey, Az,” Raef whispered, boots whispering as
he stepped onto the still-charred ground. “I found out who killed you.”

No answer.

“Bloodgrut.” A wry smile twisted his lips. He
knew that name.  Azrael had spoken of him in hushed whispers - a fearsome
orc king striving to combine the orc tribes and form his own kingdom. “I’m
going to kill him.”

Crickets chirped in the overgrowth.

He dropped to his knees and slid his fingers
through the soft dirt.  A shuddering sigh escaped him. “...I promise I’ll
be done when he’s dead.”  He lowered his head, tears stinging his eyes.
“...I’ll join you when it’s over…”

When it was all done.  When Bloodgrut was
rotting in a bog, body consumed by maggots and roaches. When the monster that
had broken his heart and sent him spiraling into this dark void was dead.  When he was himself once more, no longer
tainted by the guilt and the hurt.  When
he was worthy of Azrael's love again.

“I swear, *ahuvi*, I’ll join you.”