Bane

January 5, 1998

Midnight

Bane stood over the ledge of the quarry, staring through the darkness into the rippling surface tension of the waters below.

He held up Tannin's severed head by the deadlocked mane of its scaly head. A long time, days now, he considered skinning the creature's head, and keeping its skull as a trophy... but trophies were not his way. More so, the weight of his bone mask, the faceplate of his former self, was a reminder of what he really was, or at least what he used to be.

He lobbed the monster's head overhand, and watched it soar through the air a moment before its plummet into the quarry. There was no satisfactory splash, the torrent of the night's storm masking any sound that may have been. He finished the job, having Tannin's bloated body by its tail with both hands, up and over the edge of the ledge.

He saw the splash, and watched the monster's headless body sink into the waters.

It's dead.

Bane nodded in agreement with the faint memory of Jonathan Walker's memories, the invasive surviving portion of the dead hunter that sometimes haunted him whether he needed it, or not.

...but it should be floating. Something's wrong.

"Something is wrong." Bane said aloud, mirroring the memory in agreement.

Bane stood still a moment, his hair heavy and matted to his head, and shoulders. Lightning crackled through the blanket clouded midnight sky, and thunder rumbled in a low, echoing growl.

It was time to return to the ruins.

...it was time, so why was he following the impulse, step after heavy step down the quarry trail?

Bane grumbled a complaint to himself, as he continued into the quarry.

✟ ☧ ✟

Bane was not a fan of water, but especially a body where he could not see the bottom.

He could swim, of course.

Jonathan's memories of swimming, all of the pools, and ponds, as fresh in his head to recall as the day they happened.

Jonathan was a strong boy, and a good swimmer, and Bane was stronger than that, but Bane was as dense as he was muscular. His buoyancy was negligible, and so he avoided deep water when, and where he could, lest he should sink as would any heavy thing.

But he could hear that place. Ther terrible lying songs that vibrated out from inside it. It was a piece of the other place, the place where he was born to slavery, in bondage to the Dead God. He never knew such a place could exist, neither while he lurked along her twisted branches, nor when he first opened his eyes to the world of man.

What was something like this doing in his world?

Bane knelt and touched the waters. They were cool, but they were not as cold as they should be. The rain itself was cold; the night air and most of the days in Driftwood were cold now... but these waters were cool. They were comfortable.

Too comfortable.

Bane stepped into the water, wading in until he was in up to his chest.