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Chapter Text

Stars a blur of black and white and gold, what seemed so effortlessly beautiful and perfect to humans, ultimately was not. Like many things, the Imposter knew better than to think such a thing. Unlike humans, his mind wasn’t clouded by delusions and apathy. Humans were merely simple beings wandering about, waiting for something stronger to come along and end the pathetic few decades they’d spent trying to ‘better themself’, or ‘get back’ at another of their own kind. The lack of loyalty and ambiguity each one possessed appalled the Cre’vek. The fact that they were all so different from one another, as well. In skin, in shade, in hair, and in eyes. Not to mention, in taste.
Somehow, each one tasted so different than the one before it. Sometimes, he would just sit there as their remains fall into his second stomach, savouring the taste of their different bloods. Some were sweet, some sour, and some bitter; even. Though all carried the same metallic taste that classified the substance as what it was.
The sorry remains of a wasted life.
On the bright side, at least he got to eat it!
Growing up in The Colonies, he hadn't gotten to eat much of it. Nowadays, it was a regular thing. A dead human, a taken life– another meal. By now, it was nearly routine for the Imposter.
His home– The Colonies. It was dear to him. After all, it´s where hed grown up, where hed changed from a larva to a pupa to, eventually- an adult.
Being shunned from his flock due to his immature stature, naturally, hed been happy to leave, despite its place in his heart. There were pleasant memories created there, yes, but also pain.
Pain that his wacked-up instincts couldnt really deal with right now.
And so, hed been sent on his first mission.
It had been on a similar ship to the one he was about to enter, he mentally noted. Metallic, reinforced walls. A circular dining ´hall´. A boxy medbay. Except this one had a unique name; Hermitopia.
It was hardly a utopia, so why had they named it after such a thing? Perhaps they were going after a dystopia? But that wouldn't make sense either.
Humans had weird names for things.
The Imposter decided, then and there– that he wouldn´t dwell on it. It wasn´t worth his time, after all.
Humans weren´t worth his time.
He was above them, and always would be.
Either way, the path continued to stretch out before him. How long would he need to walk just to merely reach this ship? His space-suit hed worn all this time to blend in was beginning to feel suffocating and stiff. Maybe he was just walking slow. They´d said the docking port was only a few miles out, after all.
Well, at least he had time to think.
And slowly, as boredom truly settled in, memories returned with a kind of clarity that surprised even him.
¨Are you ready, Xelqua?¨
A shifting of tendrils, inky eyes, red pupils.
Staring at him.
Knowing him.
¨Yes, I am.¨
An immature voice, distorted with a rasp that only came with a young Cre´vek´s natural form.
Equally beady eyes, a sharpened tongue. Fueled by wit and a special type of overconfidence that was known to only cause issues.
¨Good, then. I hope you´ll remember your many years of training.¨
Wise words.
His younger self hadn´t thought so at the time, unfortunately.
He didn´t know why it was that after every mission, they´d told him to merely go to the next one. As per tradition, his kind would normally return home after such feats, resting and preserving their strength.
Keyword: normally.
That offer had never been made to him.
He hadn´t been back Home in decades.
¨I will, of course, I will.¨
An excited blabber in his native tongue.
He only wished he´d sooner picked up the evident disappointment that coated the commander's eyes.
The clear sign that this was just a means to get rid of him, not for him to prosper; not for him to become part of the everlasting history of blood he had forever hoped to join.
It hurt.
Maybe with the completion of this mission, his hardest one yet; he’d be allowed to return.
He had only a mere second to shake away the thought, before dirt turned to a cool, grainy stone. The kind that got in ones socks and shoes, and ruined their day as they walked on shards for the remainder of the time.
Yet alast, before him was the ship.
The fateful ship, in all its gray black glory.
And so, he stepped onto the ramp, slowly, one foot after the other.
Waiting, just waiting, for the moment they’d all be dead; and he could return home to the ones he truly cared about.
And so, it began. Just like it had hundreds of times before this.
He could only hope that it would run just as smoothly as all the times prior.
The stars had other plans for him, unfortunately.

Chapter Text

He’d never liked humans.
He’d despised them even further when he’d been forced to take on their stupid system of code names given by MIRA. The organization his kind had been trying to infiltrate for centuries.
And so there he was; new name given.
Red.
He supposed it fit, as he was clad in blinding red spacewear that suffocated him just a bit too much to breathe comfortably. Most likely due to his slightly inhuman anatomy that was still present, even when disguised as one of their own; he figured.
Even though he’d only boarded the ship moments before, he could feel a humans eyes on him.
It almost made his skin crawl, the mosquitoes and other disgusting mortal creatures clinging to his secretly inky frame, and slowly taking it over- piece by piece. Ruining his disguise, ruining him.
His chance of ever getting back home.
He was broken from his thoughts rather suddenly, a purple glove landing awkwardly on his shoulder.
The man was arguably taller than him. Largely so.
By a foot at least, maybe even two.
He hardly noticed his unfamiliar surroundings as he took his seat in a stiff wooden chair adjecent to a large cafeteria table, a large button in the center that he knew all to well.
The button that had single-handedly ended thousands of his kind.
The thought made, the imposter, ‘Red’s’ blood simmer and boil beneath faux skin.
The man seemed unaware of his blatant hatred for him, and instead cracked a small smile beneath his lavender-tinted visor.
“Hello! Your the new crewmate, I take it?” Upon receiving a sharp, curt nod, he continued. “Nice to meet you, then. My assigned color is Purple, though we don’t really care about those here.” He flashes a wider grin. “Just call me Xisuma!”
Red’s attention only lingered on the other mans very obvious british accent for a brief moment, before he caught the second half of what he’d said.
They were going against the organizations orders? Were they mental?
He opens his mouth to protest, before swallowing his complaint and averting his eyes. He had to stay on the low side of things, keep his cover in tact.
And that included going along with whatever ridiculous ploy they were partaking in, if he truly needed to.
The man, Xisuma, spoke up with a slight frown; seemingly noticing the shorters turmoil. “Don’t worry, due to our ships ranking we don’t get in trouble for such small things. We’re all friends here, and we call each other by our respective names because of that.”
The Cre’vek was absolutely appalled. Friends? In his many decades of back-to-back missions, he’d never heard such a plainly stupid statement. MIRA missions were about survival and information gathering, not some get-together party for idiotic humans!
He grits his teeth, forcing words out in the language he despised so much.
A language that wasn’t, and would never be– his own.
“If it’s alright, Purple, I’d much rather use code names for now. Since I’m uhm, just meeting you all.” His eyes avert. For stars sake, he hoped that wasnt too suspicious. The idea of treating humans as equals to him was repulsive, and disgusted him so incredibly that if he was forced to go along with this scheme, he may have found himself willingly in the airlock the following day.
The taller, thankfully, seemed to catch the hint; because even though a frown pulled at his far-too-cheery lips, he nodded, keeping up the welcoming appearance.
“Of course, uhm– Red.” Purple, Xisuma– uttered, after taking a quick glance at the Cre’vek’s uniform. Blood red, with a slight metallic scent; undoubtedly caused by the many metal components to the space suit.
The exact shade of blood Xisuma knew all to well.
The smell he had dreamed of for decades since.
Red averts his eyes, smelling discomfort on the older human. He ignored it; human’s weren’t worth his energy. Yet, still: he couldn’t deny the slight pang in his chest at the thought.
And so, swallowing his repulsive, pathetic worry; he turns. “What room number is mine?”
The taller bit his lip in thought, before uttering darkly, as if something was grating on his thoughts; “Room 5. It’s been… vacant, for awhile now. Should be good enough.”
Red gave a curt nod, not bothering to ask what he meant by that, before turning on his heel and leaving, the weight of all of his responsibilities chaining him down, as he moved with an impossible difficulty forwards.
“Don’t you want to know the crewmates names?” Xisuma started, eyes saddening a bit below the light tint of glass. He clearly wasn’t exactly pleased by the others level of emotional detatchment. He supposed he´d make do, though.
“Id rather not get attached,” The imposter uttered as he walked out; “Bad things happen when i do.”

——————————————————————

One thing Xisuma hated was blood.
He always had.
Well, not always.
Ever since that fated day, though.
Ever since then, he had hated blood.
Blood rushing, pooling at his feet in a sickening tapestry of metallic red shades and torn flesh.
Flesh that belonged to the captains old crewmates.
His old family.
Chewing noises coming from one he´d previously thought to be a friend.
Oh, how very wrong he had been.
A true display of what they, imposters– were capable of.
Although he had been merely 17, he remembered graphically, with great detail indeed; the sheer, nauseating terror he had felt upon seeing inky tendrils choke the lives out of his best friends. The way they had coughed up a horrible mixture of blood and bile and red clots that had looked suspiciously like lung tissue.
Their screams had pierced the air, he recalled vividly. Loud, righteous, justifiable in their nature.
Maybe a free-for-all massacre of bodies brought that sort of nature out of people.
For all he knew, that was the case.
It wasn´t like he could ask them.
Maybe the imposters, the horrible horrible creatures that had single handedly killed his previous found family– maybe they didn´t fancy killing children.
The idea of such a monster being at all merciful towards him made his head spin.
Obviously, being the only one alive, he´d been accused of the crime, despite the obvious evidence of imposters being present.
Too bad there hadn´t been an active imposter case in over 2 decades.
Too bad he hadn´t been registered fully into the system, due to being underage at the time.
Too bad that he had survived.
A mere stowaway.
And so, he´d ran.
Ran until he couldn´t anymore, ran until a mix of leafy and crimson splayed across the concrete, whispering its simple ballad in his wake, pleading for him to stop and rest for merely another day.
Once the case was proven to be true, however, MIRA had sent one of their senior representatives to go and fetch him.
Being the naive kid he was, he´d followed without hesitation.
A good choice or a bad one; he still did not know.
Though, he did know one thing.
As promised, his ship, his crew, him; they were forever in the organizations care, as an apology of sorts.
It was almost ironic, the dismay he´d felt at the time.
The disgust.
The ungratefulness.
An apology for what?
For killing his friends, for nearly killing him, too?
For nearly sentencing him to death for merely being present to witness a crime that was done by an entirely different species to his own?
For not believing him?
That didn´t matter, he now knew. Because he´d found a new family.
A new crew– with the addition of Red. And, even though he could see the level of apathy in his blood tinted expression; he knew he was one of them now, too.
One of his.
And nobody was going to take that away from him.
Not again.

Chapter Text

The weeks following that were a mix of confusion, bewilderment, and blatant awkwardness for the Cre´vek. Yet, also a reluctant acceptance. These people… these humans, they were unlike any he had seen before, he´d thought with an analytic sort of amazement. At the time, he certainly hadn´t known what he was getting himself into.
Though he couldn´t say he regretted it, exactly.
It was interesting, he admitted, learning about a species other than his own.
Living with them.
Deceiving them.
Hunting them.
Though, even though he had done such a thing hundreds of times prior, he found that it was… different this time, somehow.
Maybe because they acted so lively.
So trusting.
Trust that he would need to shatter.
Trust that would certainly be sure to end in a crimson pool of gore and fractured, unbeating hearts.
Though, Red found that he almost didn´t want to anymore.
The trust they had slowly built, the bond.
He didn´t want to end their pathetic lives.
But he did, all the same.
He had to get back home.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

A cold hand on his shoulder, laced with the subtle warmth of a glove.
An orange glove.
He peered up at the figure, a slight hesitation written in his eyes. But, he´d spoken to him many times prior.
´Hung out´ with him, as the human had called it.
Had formed a ´friendship´ with him.
Red wished he knew what that meant.
¨Hey,” The Imposter finally spoke, voice cracking slightly, and faltering with a sudden weakness.
He brushed it off.
He was fine.
He had to be.
Orange seemed to not notice; or at least didn´t bring it up, as his eyes continued to shine with an unmistakable, blatant warmth behind his tinted visor.
How humans could be so optimistic, the imposter would not know.
Would he ever know?
¨Hey yourself,¨ The taller teased; green eyes vibrant, even partially covered.
Red nearly found himself wondering if, and, if so- how, a human was worthy of such eyes.
A perfect mix of curiosity and something the Cre´vek could not name that made his blood curl and twist uncomfortably in his chest. Companionship, maybe? No. He´d practically be a disgrace if he felt anything other than pure, revolting disgust for humans.
New emotions and feelings were a rarity for him. His species was supposedly ´all-knowing´, after all. Those were the truths that had been practically spoon-fed to him since he was a larva.
So why didn´t he know this, of all things?
A hand in front of his eyes; waving dramatically.
The same gloved, orange hand.
He´d spaced out again.
Rather stupidly, the imposter realized he´d asked a question.
¨Apologies, uhm. Can you repeat that?¨ He scratches his head; an act of discomfort that he had seen humans display many times before this.
He´d learned to blend in almost too well.
But then again, that was his very purpose.
To deceive.
¨I was wondering why you´ve never asked for any of our actual names,¨ Orange frowned.
Red found that the sight made the uncomfortable, revolting twisting return– and he rather swiftly averted his eyes.
The former took that as a sign to continue, apparently. Because soon, he was blabbering about how ´Xisuma´, the latter assumed he meant Purple; had permission from MIRA to use their real names, and how they should take advantage of the fact.
The Cre´vek, on the other hand; wasn´t amused in the slightest.
Instead, he tried in a futile, worthless effort to tune out the names, and not associate them with any of the crewmates.
He couldn´t get attached.
But maybe he already was getting attached.
The thought scared the shorter more than he´d like to admit.
Orange didnt take the hint, blind to the other mans (admittedly very obvious) discomfort.
He could see why the others had called him oblivious in passing, snickering lightheartedly at his clueless nature.
At first, he had assumed the humans were genuinely mocking him; though he had quickly learned otherwise when the taller had even laughed along to said remarks.
Humans were odd.
Insults weren´t banter, they were insults; meant to break down ones shell and leave them a bleeding, splattered mess on an icy concrete floor in which mirrored the tempature of their inky black limbs.
In any case, the conversation, (very much prolonged, in Red´s humble opinion–) continued.
¨Why don´t you just tell me your name?¨ He gave a bright smile behind sunset-shaded glass. ¨I´m Scar–¨
Red opened his mouth to interrupt, yet paused in the action.
He found himself wanting to talk to this individual, to form what his own species thought of as a companionship of sorts.
Suppressing his instincts, he scolded himself. This was a human.
He couldn´t think of prey as a friend.
Though, he couldn´t resist the words that fell next from his deceitful lips.
The persona he had carefully crafted for himself, the closest thing he had to being human.
¨…Grian.¨ He mutters, the word foreign on his tongue. ¨My names Grian.¨
The taller´s eyes softened. ¨Well then, nice to meet ya´, Grian!¨ his smile widens.
The Imposter, Grian, as he called himself– nearly facepalmed.
Humans were weird.
They´d hung out together countless times before this, hadn´t they? Why was the other acting as if he´d just met him?
A thought crossed his mind.
Perhaps this was what humans labeled as a figure of speech, of sorts. A reference to the others happiness at truly knowing him. Knowing his name, or at least what he had crafted it to be.
It almost made an unfamiliar warmth well up in the others chest. A happiness, of sorts.
He wanted more of it, as simple as it was.
Maybe it was his instincts that craved it, and not truly him.
Either way, he didn´t care.
Not now.
Now when he was so close to getting what he had wanted all along- to return home.
But maybe, just maybe– that home would return to him instead, in a form different than the colonies.
He couldn´t be certain.
Though, the Imposter quickly chastised himself.
Dont be stupid.
They don´t care for you.
You´re not one of them.
Yes, while this might be true; he couldn´t fully silence the thought of it.
And that, that single moment– made him feel more human than he´d ever felt.
¨Well, in that case– nice to meet you as well, Scar.¨
The human extended a hand in invitation.
The Cre´vek responded with a confused huff, staring at the appendage in profound, everlasting silence; unblinking and unmoving.
Curious.
A wolf, just now learning human customs after years of deceit and hiding.
Hiding it´s fangs and claws, bearing weak, flattened teeth instead.
Perhaps the humans had rubbed off on him with their metaphorical speech and glorified tongues, in a way.
And alas, the Imposter took the taller humans hand; mimicking the movement Scar had done mere moments before.
Glove met glove, wary grip in held firmly in kind.
Lessons of old forgotten, and new ones beginning to rise in their place;
It had only been a matter of time, he´d known. Only a matter of time before old instincts had gave way for new to pass through. Only a matter of time before he´d begin to see these humans as something like kin or even flock, and not as prey or something to feed on for a quick bite of sustenance.
Only a matter of time before he´d die.
He´d felt it long before, though only now had it began to grow in intensity.
He could ignore it.
He´d be fine.
Because for the first time, he found himself not wanting to kill these humans; they were far too interesting of lives to waste.
And maybe, just maybe– though he´d never admit it aloud– he was beginning to care.
Caring for those who would undoubtedly cause his very downfall.
Caring for those who had unknowingly found themselves in the presence of an Imposter.
Him.
And Grian, the Cre´vek whose chosen name resembled something far more than just a simple word- found himself beginning to accept that fact.

——————————————————————

Lavender, gloved digits tapping rhythmically on an oversized, technologically advanced keyboard.
A soft hum.
A soft hum that was soon replaced with a confused exhale.
And then a masked frown.
Xisuma was… confused, to say the least. There should have been the ship efficiency of 8 members; not 7.
There was a slight chance that one of them was not aware of how to do certain tasks– that was undoubtedly a possability.
Yet something felt… off, to the captain.
Whether it was due to his past, his lingering suspicions from it– or merely a suppressed curiosity invoking such thoughts, he knew he should look in to it.
It was his responsibility, after all.
They were his responsibility.
He wouldn´t made the same mistake twice; he wasn´t that foolish.
Or at least, he hoped so.
And so, typing erratically now on said keyboard, Xisuma began to search through device logs, the screen blaring a vibrant leafy green shade– which was accompanied by black lines of different sizes. And on the green, tasks were written.
Lavender irises scan the screen, a fist clenching and unclenching in a tedious rhythm; brows furrowed in apparent stress.
This was wrong; everything was wrong.
Was it possible that they weren´t alone?
The human quickly shook off the thought.
That wasnt possible; no Imposter would ever have waited this long to feed. They´d have to be downright stupid! Every human knows that an Imposter begins to starve to death after merely a month or even a few weeks or so; rarely longer. If they did happen to have a ´friend´ with them, they would be probably clinging to their life by now.
And so, due to this– the Captain quickly shook off his lingering speculations.
Someone was probably just slacking off, or never learned how to properly do said tasks.
Yeah, that was it.
He exhaled a deep sigh, the tension slowly draining from his features.
He was just paranoid; there was no way an Imposter would starve themself, and an even lesser chance of them having held back from attacking for this long.
He got up from his chair, a soft smile tugging at his lips.
He´d gotten all worked up and worried over nothing.
Typical.
So, so very typical.
Did he ever change?
With an exhale, he reached for the door.
The door that marked the growing distance between himself and his closest friends.
His family.
Better go check on the crew, he decided after a moment; after all, it was time for dinner.

——————————————————————

Human food, in a sense- had always disgusted the Imposter.
Revolted him.
It had always made bile want to rise in his throat, and spill out over said substance; covering it, making it his own.
Taking away it´s humanity; the thing about it that nauseated him so.
It was far too human.
But as faux gray eyes fixed on the meal before him, he found himself not feeling disgust, but… instead, intrigue.
Such intrigue that he might have asked what it was made of, or about its origins.
He knew, though, that it was a standard travel meal of sorts.
Asking would lead to questions.
And questions to suspicions.
He didn´t want to die.
Especially not when he was just now beginning to find a new ̶f̶l̶o̶c̶k̶– family.
Family.
That´s all he was to the humans.
Family.
It pained him, that the crew didn´t share his instincts.
The very instincts that had gotten him attached.
The instincts that had gotten him into this mess in the first place.
The instincts that made him uncertain whether to run, hide, scream, or cry.
He wished they would think of him the same.
As the taste entered his mouth, he startled a moment at his own actions.
He would normally consume without tasting, so as to not let the horrible solid linger in his mouth and catch in hidden fangs.
He hadn´t this time.
He regretted it.
Apparently thinking of humans as flock was where his instincts reached their limit; human food still sucked.
Forcing it down, eyes watering just slightly, the Cre´veks eyes scan the table.
Specifically, to the crewmate next to him.
Black.
He coughs awkwardly, another uncomfortable, unfamiliar feeling rising in his chest as he tried to play off his distaste for the meal.
Black regarded him with quizzical red eyes, before bursting into laughter.
The Imposter pauses, puzzled. Was this funny to him? Had he caught him?
Was he going to die?
¨You don´t have to like it y´know, Red.¨ He smiles gently, a british rasp to his tone.
Similar to Grian´s own accent.
Grian almost found himself offended at the codename. They were all getting closer; maybe that was just him.
He´d always had a horrible perception of if humans trusted him or not.
As obvious by the way they had turned and nearly threw him out of the airlock in the blink of an eye.
His life was indefinitely owed to the other Imposter that had accompanied him that day.
Green, the others had codenamed him.
Brown hair, short; with a verdant green strip blossoming down the center of it.
Green eyes, vibrant with life.
Hiding.
Just like he had been. Just like he still was.
Always hiding.
The Cre´vek still remembered in full the terror he´d felt as the final votes were cast.
His first time, and last– being voted out.
He´d learned his lesson since then, thankfully.
He´d been young; stupid. It had been merely a month since he´d passed his Pupa stage. He´d gotten too confident. Too cocky.
The other Imposter had quickly killed them before they could kill him. and for that he was thankful.
Though, never again would he willingly live through that.
He was smarter than that; smarter than humans.
Or at least, he thought he was.
¨Thanks, I wont then.¨ Grian, Red– answered gruffly, eyes downcast.
Black, used to his general withdrawn nature; didn´t question it. Though when he spoke, it was of another query entirely.
¨Mm. Y´know, its been months, and–” he was interrupted by the shorter, who was already desperate enough as it was to be called by his chosen name, which was currently unknown by the others. He´d known what Black was about to ask. And, he´d happily indulge.
¨Grian, my name is Grian.¨ He exhaled, saying it loud enough so that those around the entire table could hear. He was met with warm smiles, tossed about names, and reassuring words in response to the revelation. It made another feeling arise in his chest, this time uncomfortable, yet strangely pleasant.
He found that he wanted to feel it again, forever, even– if he could.
And for the first time, Grian was happy. Happy to be; happy to live. To forever reside alongside these humans, even with all of their odd gestures and weird, amusing quirks.
And there he knew, finally, truly knew– that there was nothing that could ever take this away from him. This feeling, this comfort. This companionship.
Perhaps the Imposter could live off of it alone.
Who needed food, anyways? Not him, obviously. Besides, he was happy as is. He could easily go another few weeks! Probably.
If only he´d known just how wrong he had truly been.

Chapter Text

The world was cruel. That, the Cre´vek knew.
What hadn´t been foretold, however; was the sickening way in which he was sure to meet his end.
Starvation.
A simple thing, in words.
Yet, to him, his kind, even, it was far more than that.
Starvation meant weakness. Starvation meant giving up.
And although he himself was not one to easily quit, he found that he almost wanted to.
It wasn´t that Grian wanted to die.
It was quite the opposite, in actuality.
But even more so, he didn´t want to be known as a monster to the only people who had ever trusted him.
Loved him.
He wanted to be remembered as a positive, not as this Imposter who had manipulated and deceived them for months on end.
He wanted to be missed.
Grian knew it was selfish to wish for such a thing.
Fate was bound to snap back at him for even considering such a thought.
In the end he would fade into nothingness, nothing left of him other than a tainted memory and a crimson ocean of regret.
A justified finale for someone such as him.
yet, selfishly, in a way; the Imposter couldn´t help but long for another outcome.
It wasn´t like he had much choice or say in the matter, after all.
The stars wouldn´t bend to his will, and therefore neither would the gods themselves.
And so, cast in darkness forever, he was prophecied to indefinitely rot.
But in the meantime, he figured that he ought to make do with the time he did have.
Even if that time was spent hiding, cowering.
Simply waiting for the day that the stars would regrettably align, and his thought faded into a mere bad memory in the minds of those who he called the closest thing he had to a ´friend´,
Whatever that word meant.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

In all his time aboard the ship, the crew had not once mentioned his kind. Not once. Not the threat they served, not the vigilance they would need to carry in order to survive in space. Not the dangers of taking on new ´humans´, for the possibility of said person in reality being an Imposter was scarily high.
Not once had they mentioned that there was a chance Grian wasn´t one of their own.
They didn´t suspect him.
In truth, the Imposter was reluctant to believe that.
Grian was beginning to believe that they were lying, in a way.
Of course they were suspicious; who wouldn´t be? A new person, clad in a crimson red spacesuit and eyes too gray for another's liking– randomly boarding the ship. Not to mention, he was slow with tasks, often skipping them– and as an added bonus, he spoke with an abnormal formality none of them had themselves.
They were lying about what they thought of him; they had to be.
The thought of them not being truthful with him, hypocritical as it was– made a terrible feeling swell in his gut, blossoming into a dozen thorny, human plants which painfully tore at the inner walls of his chest– a trail of blood left in their wake.
That nearly perfectly described this feeling.
This human feeling that he could not name because he was not human.
He wasn´t one of them.
His crew and him weren´t the same.
It hurt.
Truly, totally hurt.
If they despised him, if they thought him to be a traitor; they should at least confront him to his face.
This, the Cre´vek wholly believed.
Truthfully, it hurt more than the times he´d been chastised by an elder when he was still a Larva.
It hurt more than watching his own species get thrown out of the airlock, and even helping the humans do it to avoid getting thrown out himself.
It hurt more than he had ever known in these decades of wasted life.
He didn´t know what to do.
He just wanted them to be honest.
It was stupid to think such a thing, really.
When had he ever been honest with them?
With a startling realization, Grian froze.
He hadn´t.
Not when they had met, not when he had told them his supposed ´name´, and not even when they had spent their leisure time together telling faraway tales and discussing how poorly the organization's system was truly run.
The Imposter felt an unfamiliar sensation roll down his left cheek.
Hot, sickly; burning.
His visor suddenly fogged, and he found that his breaths were erratic and unsteady. And, to his dismay– he couldn´t calm them.
He couldn´t calm his breaths.
The world, previously sharp and defined; now looked to be painted by an impressionist, the colors smudged and swirling in a tapestry that could only resemble his current state of internal despair.
Past cries and discarded screams flooded the Cre´veks ears, causing two worlds to merge and him to be lost between them, the force of his memories so very strong that it brought him to his knees.
Visions swept about and the dreadful pleading resumed, leaving an isolated, lone figure crouched beside a cot in the room he had eventually come to call his own.
The terrible sound of strangled gasps filled the small, confined space; uneven and raw.
Painful.
The figure hardly recognized it as his own.
Until, a secondary set of breaths joined it.
Calmer, more calculating.
Reassuring.
Honest.
Finally, Grian found it in himself to look up.
2 eyes.
1 black, the other red.
Crisp white hair falling loosely before a white, glassy visor.
With a start, through his (now interrupted) depressive haze; the Imposter recognized him.
White, or- the second in command of their ship, Etho, who was second to only Xisuma himself.
He was going to kill him.
His breaths only grew more shaky, and he screwed his eyes shut.
Surely, his suspicions were confirmed now.
Because, how could they not be?
He´d be thrown out of the airlock, left to suffocate and starve in the endless existence of space.
He squeezed tighter.
He wasn´t going to let Etho see the fear in his eyes.
Not after all he had done by simply being there.
¨Grian.¨ A voice, hazy, distant– sounded in his ear.
It was just another vision.
A hallucination.
Yet still it persisted.
¨Grian.¨ It came again.
Only when he felt a chilling glove on his shoulder did the Imposter startle.
His eyes instinctively snapped open, locking onto the tallers.
He was sure now that he could sense his anxiety.
But yet, all he saw in those eyes were compassion and kindness.
Compassion and kindness, and an unidentifiable warmth so brief that he hardly registered it.
But it was there.
And on top of all of this, worry.
The bone chilling kind that made the Cre´vek want to curl up and plead for forgiveness.
Why was he worried? He had to know by now, right?
Grians eyes avert, mind jumbled and foggy with distress.
Was this all a cruel, tortorous act so that their revenge was just that much sweeter?
¨Grian, what´s wrong?¨ A quiet voice, soft and rough.
Silence.
Pure, painstaking silence.
A second hand joined the first.
Two real eyes narrow.
Two fake ones close.
¨Come on, please?¨
Through the hunger, the pain, the panic– all of it was cast in shadow by the fact that they probably knew what he was.
The light shone on the simple idea that they most likely were lying, bright and blinding.
Too bright.
He´d never liked light.
Besides; they most likely knew what he was.
But, in the off chance that they didn´t…
¨…I´m fine.¨ A voice, far too raspy and unfamiliar to be his own.
He hated it.
He hated it more than he hated himself.
¨You´re lying.¨ A darker tone, firm.
3 hearts sunk.
¨I´m not.¨
Desperation laced his tongue, dripping from it.
Poisoning him with it.
The second in command seemed to pick up on the underlying note of despair in the Imposters voice, for the next thing he knew, he was pulled into stronger arms; unable to wiggle free.
So, this is how he was going to die? Wrapped in the arms of someone he had previously thought of as a ´friend´, who was undoubtedly about to send black ink splattering over the floor of his borrowed room.
How foolish of him.
But, the death blow never came.
Grian waited for what seemed to be years in human time, yet still nothing.
Maybe, just maybe, he thought reluctantly, that this human didn’t truly know what he was.
Had he been wrong?
It was possible.
He hadn’t given anything away as of yet, other than his slowness in completing tasks and his random breakdown.
Those behaviours could easily be justified as human, though.
Couldn’t they?
He had no time to think, however, body starved and slumped with exhaustion, as sleep began to tug on the edges of his consciousness.
Gloved fingers caressed his back, and in mere moments, the world had gone dark.

——————————————————————

“So, what’d you want to talk to me about?” The captain smiled, tilting his head in curiosity. Yet underneath the curiosity, hidden in the depths of the mans eyes– was concern.
It was obvious if one knew him well enough.
And, thankfully– he did.
Etho grimaced slightly, eyes darkening. “I’m worried about Grian, Xisuma.”
At his side, gloved hands fidgeted impatiently.
Nervous.
Xisuma paused, lavender eyes boring into the others mismatched.
Watching.
Analyzing.
But underneath it all, there was an obvious gleam of worry.
“What about Grian?” He frowns, gaze darkening, serious.
White, silky hair fell before his visor, which the crewmate quickly brushed aside with a gloved digit.
“I found him in his room earlier, when Ren had asked me to go fetch him.” He paused.
The captain frowned. “So what? He’s allowed to be in his room–”
“He was having a panic attack, Xisuma.”
Silence.
Undying, eternal silence; filling the room and sucking the life out of them, leaving them numb and unfeeling.
“Wait, what?” The taller stammered, eyes wide and enlarged. “Is- is he okay, Etho?” His brow furrowed in evident worry.
“I don’t know.”
A usually confident voice; now low with unease and uncertainty.
Averted, red black eyes.
Fists; clenched white underneath a glove of the same color.
Etho didn’t know what to do.
And apparently, neither did Xisuma.
“Well, what do you think it’s about?” A lower, steady voice muttered; tinged with the slightest authoritative, british rasp.
Etho paused in thought.
What was it about, even?
The human had no clue.
“...maybe his past, or something? After all, he’s never really told us about it, or anything too personal… For stars sake, it took however long for him to even tell us his name!” Etho managed, voice gaining conviction as he spoke, the pieces slowly coming together in his mind.
“...Maybe,” The captain mused, eyes narrowed in both thought and concern. “We need to figure out what it is eventually, though.”
An exhale.
No, two.
In that moment, the pair knew.
They would find out what was troubling the other they cared for so dearly, and fix this.
They would find out what was wrong with Grian and help him, no matter how daunting whatever was seemingly haunting the shorters mind may actually be.
They weren’t aware of the true reason for his actions, however.
The hunger.
The hurt.
The pure, unbridled agony in which their fellow crewmate constantly endured.
Well, they wouldn’t be in the dark for much longer.
After all, the stars had other plans.
They always had.

Chapter Text

Hunger.
Simple, yet so very complicated all the same.
One might not imagine the very extent one would go to in order to merely fulfill such hunger.
Grian could.
The feeling of teetering on the edge of nothingness, just waiting for the push that will make you plummet over the cliffside.
It was a feeling all Imposters knew well, had come to terms with.
What the Cre’vek hadn’t expected, however, was for it to get this bad.
Daggers twisted painfully and pulled at his second stomachs lining, mutilating it into what could only be described as a terrible agony, constantly there; never relenting in it’s intensity.
In fact, said pain only slowly worsened.
As first, it was gradual. A steady, ongoing buzz that he could not quite shake. Irritating at it’s finest, but not truly harmful.
But this was another level, he knew.
Grian knew he could not survive much longer.
Through all of his emotional struggles as of late, the Imposter hadn’t even registered the reality of death.
Starvation.
An eternal end.
In the past he would have thought only of the ones who had harmed him, and made him cower under the deceptive mask he forever wore.
Now, however, he would mourn something far more personal.
Friendship, as the humans had called it.
He was going to die, due to his feeble wish about not wanting to feed on these humans.
These humans who had unintentionally given him everything.
These humans who he, regrettably– had come to know as one of his own.
These humans who were the very reason for his current suffering.
If only he could feed.
And so slowly, the remaining tatters of the Imposters mind began to fray. As a result of this growing starvation, this weakness– what was once previously sharp now became muddled and unfocused.
Dull.
Foggy.
Hazed.
Until finally, what he had previously known became part of that fog, and his morals and intentions contorted into a simple background hum, that terrible pang in his chest only growing.
And so, instinct-driven, he set off to do something impulsive.
Something that may change everything as he knew it.
Something that might get him killed.
But then again, it wasn’t really him; more-so, it was that aching need for satiation that was driving his actions. A bit like being intoxicated, he supposed.
However, that still would not reverse what he was about to do.
And he knew that the consequences of his actions would soon return in full.
He couldn’t process that fully, though, in his current state.
Oh, how he wished he could’ve.

——————————————————————

A light hum filled the air, vibrating around the dampened, icy space; brightened and made anew by the presence of a certain crewmate.
Or, captain– to be more specific.
Xisuma was checking the cameras, eyes blurred with boredom; eyesight fading as his focus zeroed more-so in on his thoughts.
The thought of Grian’s wellbeing lingered against the human’s will, casting a shadow of dreadful worry over his every action.
He hated not knowing things, especially when it came to his crew.
He flinched as he heard a sound, something like a thud mixed with heavy, erratic breathing.
Only then did he remember he was in front of the cameras.
It was probably a product of someone walking, and the noise carrying through; he felt soothed.
However, a harsh reality soon hit him.
Voice didn’t carry through the device, only visuals.
1 breath.
2 heartbeats.
3 seconds of terror, before relief settled deep in his bones as he swiveled his chair to face the intruder.
It was just Grian.
The captain let out a sharp huff of laughter, posture instantly relaxing. “Oh- Grian! You scared me, mate.” He allowed an awkward, yet surprisingly fond smile to cross his lips- if only for a moment. “What’cha need?”
He was met with silence.
Pure, unnerving silence.
Bar the sound of their combined breaths, of course.
Though, the taller instantly noticed the others uneven breathing pattern.
It was unnatural, almost.
A mixture of panic and something that sounded raw and unknown.
Something that, truthfully; scared the man more than he’d like to admit.
“Grian?” he repeats, voice turning almost cautionary; laced with a confused edge.
Silence.
4 beats.
5 seconds of silence.
“Grian!”
6 steps closer.
7 pounds of lead weighing down Xisuma’s now rigid feet.
“Why aren’t you saying anything? He mumbled, brow furrowed in a mixture of worry and slight unease.
He received no answer, only 8 blinks.
Slow.
Calculating.
9 more seconds pass without words.
Agonizing.
Until 10 months together were forgotten in merely a second of the others hunger.
Before the captain had ever seen it coming, Grian, the one he had previously thought to be a friend– had him pinned against the wall, eyes an unnatural shade of crimson that Xisuma had only seen in his nightmares years ago.
His mouth fell open rather stupidly, legs suddenly feeling like a dead weight.
He couldn’t move even if he wanted to.
For the first time in years, he felt a tear slip down his cheek because GODDAMNIT, had it really been too good to be true?
Was one of the supposed ‘crewmates’ he cared so dearly for in actuality a cannibalistic alien sent to kill them?
To kill him?
“If you’re going to kill me, Grian, then do it.” He snaps, eyes dark with betrayal.
He noticed a flicker of hesitation in the Imposters blood-tinted eyes.
That was odd.
“Stop trying to prolong this!” Xisuma continued, trying desperately to find a way to just stop this endless cycle of torment. “If you want to kill me, do it! Don’t keep me alive and watch my tears fall for your sick sense of entertainment!--”
His feeble rant was interrupted by the other; who spoke in a low, uncontrolled murmur– eyes filled with something unfamiliar, but equally as dangerous.
“...Hungry…” he drawled lethargically, eyes fuzzy and movements uncoordinated. “But…flock…”
Xisuma went rigid.
What?
He didn’t know what in voids name was happening, truthfully.
However he couldn’t shake the sense that this wasnt normal- even for a Cre’vek.
In fact, his gut told him that this was far from it.
“Grian?..” He began quietly, even more wary than before now. “What do you–”
“Need…to–” Grians breaths became even more unsteady as he practically threw off his gloves and let black, inky claws unsheathe from his human disguises fingertips– which rather swiftly found their way to Xisumas neck.
Needless to say, the taller was… decently mortified.
More so, however, he was confused.
Grian hadn’t killed him, at least not yet, anyway– looked obviously weakened, and was mumbling about some ‘flock’.
He needed answers.
“What do you mean?” He breathes, tension still deep in his bones.
“Need…to..feed–” The other insisted clumsily, the light slowly draining from Grians eyes.
And finally, it hit.
Grian was dying.
Not just that, he was starving to death.
Was it possible that he had never wanted to hurt them, and in fact just wanted a family? As supported by his repeated mumblings of ‘flock’, of course.
Xisuma tried to suppress the tentative hope, instead playing into his suspicions. He didn’t know much about the others species, truthfully, but he could connect enough dots in his head to try to make his calming efforts sound somewhat believable.
“You’re hungry?” He asks softly, trying to force down the tremble in his voice. “You could have asked, you know.”
He received no response other than Grian’s grip tightening around his neck, but pressed forward nonetheless.
“We’re flock; we can arrange for you to eat something, G. You don’t need to starve to death in isolation.”
The Imposter stilled at the word ‘flock’, efforts at feeding from the human temporarily paused.
Xisuma, sensing that his attempts were getting through to the other; let a small smile grace his unusually tight lips. “Yeah, flock, G.” The words felt so, so utterly odd coming from his own mouth– this was something he thought he would never hear himself say.
Ever.
“We can get you something to eat, keep you safe–”
To his surprise, the other let out a slight nonhuman noise that was a mix of guilt and apology, eyes turning back to their usual gray-black hue, albeit with a slight red still lingering.
His eyes were a space without stars, the endless blackness still somehow endearingly familiar even after everything that had happened. The purples, the reds, the grays and the blacks; how had he not noticed what Grian was before?
It was quite simple, really.
He just hadn’t wanted to believe it.
Every time Grian had accidentally shifted his eyes, or could carry just a bit too much weight; a voice had spoken up in the tallers mind, filled with caution.
He had been too stubborn, too immature.
He couldn’t make the same mistakes as he had all of those years ago.
And so instead, he simply had chosen to not believe it.
Ignorance was bliss, after all.
At least for those who could ignore things.
He wasn’t one of them.
And so his suspicions had lingered, even as months passed and the pair had gotten to know each other.
If theres one thing the captain learned through his trauma, if there was one thing good to come out of all of it; it was that he could always trust his gut.
And right now, his gut told him Grian didn’t have bad intentions– despite currently having claws to his throat.
What Xisuma had yet to learn, though, was that it wasn’t necessarily as simple as that; per say.
As soon as the red had left, it returned once again.
Grian quickly pressed the natural weapons into the humans neck, eyes gleaming with a mixture of starvation and guilt.
“Need…to-”
A scarlet stream trickled unevenly down the humans neck, rolling carefully down his lavender space-suit and making a horrible, iron scent rise and fill the room with its fragrance.
A choked gasp fell sharply from his lips.
Panic was beginning to rise once more.
“Grian, please! We- we’ll get you food!” He manages, eyes filled with a different sort of pleading that he had only ever used back then.
When he’d watched all of his comrades die.
When he had failed them.
As tears began to flicker in his eyes, he swallowed his reservations. He had to play into the others instincts to get him to come back into his rational mind? He’d simply do just that.
“Flock doesn’t harm one another,” He insisted, despite not knowing if that was true or not. For him, this was all one large gamble that he had to pray would hit.
He wish he’d done the mandatory Imposter research beforehand. Though, he doubt that they would have given information such as this.
The Cre’vek, after a long few moments; faltered in his stance.
Perhaps common sense was returning to his dazed mind.
Finally, Grian pulled his claws away; leaving only a large gaping wound and a winding crimson trail to remain.
That was a relief, he supposed.
Despite not being fully out of his instincts, he was calmer, it seemed.
That was good.
It all happened rather quickly.
The shorters form stumbling, a sound of panic reaching Xisumas ears.
The stabbing pain in the tallers neck intensifying.
A dead weight in his arms.
Not exactly dead quite yet, though.
Or at least he hoped.
The ragged, slow breaths said otherwise, thankfully.
With an awkward sigh, the man slowly lowered Grian to the steely, icy floor of the aircraft.
Well, this was certainly a development.
Perhaps he was clinging to the edge of life, desperately wanting sustenance though not wanting to kill those closest to him.
Gritting his teeth, the captain picked up the Imposter; two sets of breaths slowly mingling into a singular, more prominent pattern.
‘Time to feed an Imposter’, he thought with a sense of resignation.
Even though Grian was an Imposter, he was also their friend; that he knew. And until he truly proved otherwise, he would give him the benefit of the doubt.
And that, he was certain of.
But first, he had to get answers.

——————————————————————

Blinding lights.
Too blinding.
So much so that the Cre’vek struggled to see, even with his enhanced nonhuman vision.
Panic swelled up, overpowering his senses as he noticed a singular thing.
Below him was a cot, and to its sides his wrists were bound.
They were going to torture him.
Injure him.
Kill him.
With the remnants of his energy, he thrashed, the binds creaking in protest but never fully snapping.
Shit.
SHIT.
He had to get out–
“Grian.” A voice, cold.
He felt his body go rigid, mind suddenly blank.
He couldn’t respond.
Xisuma didn’t seem to mind.
Slightly behind Xisuma, the Imposter noticed; Etho stood.
He felt a wet cloud enter his eyes.
Damp, painful.
A hazy sheen that he couldn’t see fully through.
If he died, he wanted to at least be able to see them!--
“Grian,” Said voice snaps again. The Imposter struggled to blink through his tears, and focus his eyes on the taller figure; but alas he did.
Internally he knew that he could just go into his true form and escape effortlessly, though he did not want his ‘friends’ to think of him a monster.
Even if they already did.
“What?” He finally mumbled, voice quiet and resigned. “If you’re going to do it, then just get it over with!” There was a biting accusation in his starving voice; icy, cold.
Xisuma recoiled, a slight mix of horror and confusion in his eyes.
“What do you think we’re going to do, G?” he queries carefully, slowly stepping closer.
“Don’t play coy!” Hunger flashed in his eyes. “Just– get it over with!”
Etho stepped up, footsteps falling silently as he whispered into Xisumas ear.
The Cre’vek was too fatigued and weak to try to listen.
The captains eyes shifted from confusion to a mix of utter disbelief and a solemn understanding. “You think we’re going to kill you, right? Is that it?”
To this question, however, the pair did not receive an answer, only a statement.
“You’ve tied me to a bed, I can’t move, and I’m about to wither from starvation. What do you think?” He stammers, eyes dark with betrayal. “So, again– just get it over with.”
Xisuma stepped closer, and he felt himself tear up.
So this was it, then.
His fated end, done by the ones whom he had grown to trust the most.
A cruel twist of fate, perhaps.
Though, deserved; for someone like him.
Instead of a knife, instead of a blow, however– he felt the binds being undone.
“We only bound you so you wouldn’t attack us if you were still blinded by your instincts, Grian.” Xisumas voice audibly broke. “We would never hurt you. Don’t think that for even a second, okay?”
Grian felt a stab in his gut, churning and forever twisting; carving a deeper and deeper wound as it went. Regret pulled violently at his insides, and he felt the tears grow.
Gods, he hated human emotions.
But they had upsides too, he supposed.
When in this form he could feel something he’d never felt before.
Despair, sadness, love, care, guilt.
It was overwhelming almost in it’s intensity.
Even as the binds were taken off, however, he could not sit up.
Weakness tugged at his body, and haze-filled gray eyes met the others.
“I’m sorry for everything.” His voice cracked. “For deceiving you, for–...” He trailed off, the unspoken words obvious.
For nearly killing you.
“G… you couldn’t control it.” X sighs. “Can I know one thing, though?”
A pause.
“...I owe you that much at least, don’t I?” Grian exhaled. “Ask away.”
“What’s your real name?”
Those very words he had dreaded, yet knew he had to answer nonetheless.
“Xelqua,” He grits out in a foreign accent, before switching to english. “I prefer Grian, though. It’s more…” He tried to find the words.
“Human?” Etho piped up, voice uncharacteristically soft.
“Yeah, human.” He agreed silently.
“Well, in that case, Grian,” Xisuma started; a tiny smile dancing carefully on his lips.
“Why don’t we get you something to eat?”

Chapter Text

For humans, the days and nights and years that made up ones life would pass boringly, made up of a static rhythm and dead, apathetic eyes. For a Cre’vek, though, it passed almost too quickly.
Constant running, hiding, evading capture; it would undoubtedly wear on anyone’s soul, human or not.
It would make an individual wary, and likely constantly on guard.
Scared, afraid, yes– but also distrustful.
That was the very issue that were facing with their Imposter friend.
He seemed to nearly never fully trust their word, always doubting their intentions even when he was ultimately safe.
Protected.
Loved.
The captain couldn’t blame Grian; he never could.
Not even when he’d had claws to his throat, and the man before him had been only a shell made to harbour deeper, more aggressive instincts.
Not even when he’d almost died to the others same species many years prior.
Not even when the memory of failing his closest comrades had been brought back in full due to the event.
He could never blame him.
Could never push away a friend.
And so, here Xisuma sat, about to commit an act that would surely make his gut churn in disgust and his memories haunted for years to come.
Everyone on the ship was likely asleep. And if something were to happen, the male knew that Etho could protect them.
But for now, he had a job to do.
And so, lowering the ship to the ground with specialized controls, and an ease that could only ever come from decades of practice; they hit the port of one of MIRA’s many outposts, used by enemy and friend ships alike, all for the sole purpose of gathering the materials needed to survive.
Adjusting his spacesuit, the human opened the door, allowing for the artificial planets air to creep into the ships open hatch; which X speedily closed after his exit, though ensured he had a way back in during the process.
He had to make this quick.
Stealthily sliding a custom dagger into his lavender-shaded pocket (yet another one of MIRA’s ‘amazing’ apologies for the trauma he had endured during his younger years at their fault), he set out into the marketplace.
If anyone asks, he could simply say he was looking for more food. After all, that’s technically what they were going to be, right?
He sighed at the thought, gaze darkening.
This was going to be a long night.

——————————————————————

The following morning, Gray-black eyes slowly blinked open, exhausted arms hauling a lone figure up into a sitting position on a rough, unkind cot.
He wasn’t tied down, at the very least. That was a plus.
Grians mind was a daze however, and he still felt starved.
Somehow, for better or worse– the Imposter was not yet dead.
He didn’t know why the others had spared him; or why they had supposedly grown ‘fond’ of another from a species that exists only to kill them.
Humans were odd.
He’d always thought so.
In the past, he thought they would have been odd in a different sense.
Odd for being so weak;
Odd for being food that has a conscious, odd because they fought for their own survival instead of submitting to a more powerful beings command.
Odd for wanting to live.
And yet, now he saw it in a different light.
They were odd in many of the same ways still, yes– though now they were demonstrating other things that the Cre’vek found unfathomable.
They weren’t odd for being naive, no– all humans were, to some degree. Instead, they were odd for not running.
For trusting him so fully and truthfully.
For wanting to befriend him, despite the undeniable malicious intent he had shown upon his first arrival.
For loving him.
Whether it was stupidity or a manipulation tactic, Xel-..Grian. Grian was not sure.
He knew one thing, however.
Despite the consequences… he had done the same in return with them. Bonded, trusted, confided.
Cared.
As much as a being of inky space tendrils could, anyways.
Grian fidgeted with the loose sheet.
Even if he’d wanted to move, to get up and find the others and apologize for ever living– he knew that he couldn’t.
Wouldn’t.
He was too weak, too human.
The irony nearly made the alien creature sob.
Grian had simply wanted companionship.
In fact, that was all he had ever wanted.
Kind arms, a soft tickle on his neck as a familiar warmth embraced him.
Friends, he had recently learned the word.
His supposed ‘friends’ likely hated him, he reminded himself.
After all, how could they not?
He had lied to them, tricked them.
Pretended to be one of them when in reality he was just a shell.
A shell with no feelings, no thoughts and certainly no heart.
That was all he would ever be.
He would be lucky if they even kept him around at all, even if he became a living experiment in the process.
He wouldn’t blame them.
The Cre’vek was broken from his thoughts as the twisting of a door knob registered within his mind.
Xisuma.
Even with the other confirming that he wouldn’t kill him, the individual couldn’t help but be wary of his intentions.
After all, why keep a man-eating creature around if you have no specific need for them?
That was when Grian noticed what he was dragging behind him.
Had he been truthful to his promise?
His word?
His breath stutters, instincts immediately clawing at him. And this time, with the binds out of place, he tried to get up.
He found that he could not.
Alas, Xisuma sent him an empathetic, albeit slightly disturbed– smile.
“G, hey.” he kept his voice soft, soothing.
It had the desired effect, as the Imposter immediately relaxed.
“Xisuma,” he stammers, eyes dropping their gaze from the mans face to the cold, unfeeling floor. “Im sorry,” he whispers, for possibly the hundredth time.
In reality, he simply wanted to get across how truly sorry he was.
How much he regretted it.
However, even while regretting what he had almost done to them, regretting the life he had nearly taken– he couldnt help but be thankful for the fun times they did have, even if he had been slowly starving to death.
It was complicated, he supposed.
Too complicated.
The purple-clad human sighed. “I’ve told you, you don’t need to apologize. We all understand. Well–... most of us.” he added in a slightly lower whisper, before continuing. “You don’t need to worry, G.”
Grian’s unnaturally good ears picked up on the latter part of the sentence, shoulders drooping.
Xisuma sighs. “Hey– ‘m sorry; don’t focus on that. Uhm, I brought you something.”
Grians attention was torn away from the man to the–
Oh.
OH.
The most definitely not bloody and most definitely not terrified human in his arms, arms bound with a tight chain that splintered further into his flesh with every passing moment.
Unfamiliar, foreign.
He wasn’t flock.
And therefore, he was food; in an odd, twisted way.
This human with a life, with a soul, with strengths and pitiful weaknesses known only to those dear to them.
In this moment, however, the Imposter could only think of his stomach; aching irritatingly with the need to be filled with sustenance, and the weakness clawing at his limbs, slowly draining the life from him until he was sure to be gone.
A life for a life, to summarize.
It was the way things worked, and, as the lavender clad man set them down; Grian lunged– albeit weakly, Xisuma needing to hold the man still so he didn’t run from the Cre’vek. Because, as they both knew– in Grians current state, the human likely could.
All at once his thoughts blurred into an almost unrecognizeable haze.
Red flashing violently across his vision, hunger pooling in his gut and his deepest instincts guiding his unnatural fangs and his uncanny form closer and closer to what it needed.
He could scarcely pick up the scent of evident revulsion as well as reluctant care from his human companion– yet opted to ignore it, even if it thoroughly pained him to do so.
He’d never wished to scare his friends, but he wanted to feed.
Even if it costed a life to do so.
Finally, his weakened form reached its target.
The world faded into a tapestry of cries, pleading, and piercing, panic-driven screams.
The welcoming, familiar warmth of human blood filled Grians mouth, soothing his nerves as what previously had been the preys neck mutilated into a gaping hole of severed nerves and bone– which he soon dug into as well. The humans cries evaporated into nothing, it’s struggles easing as the life slowly drained from its pathetic, unseeing irises.
The Imposter had missed this so; the feeling of strength, of breaking bones and destroying thin layers of flesh that protected their organs from the outer world.
As he kept on greedily lapping up the blood that freely flowed from the random humans neck, he cast a half glance over at Xisuma.
For once, he couldn’t tell exactly what the other was feeling.
All the Cre’vek knew was that he had to keep feeding.
And so, he turned his attention back to the now diseased corpse below him.
By now, the gore was pooling over the floor in a sickening coat of wet, crimson blood and shrilled, shredded bone; the chunks of such floating in a steady river as it slowly traveled across the chilled aircraft floor.
But he wasn’t done.
And, it was merely moments before the sound of a guttural growl rose into the air, and the much too audible sloshing of blood and tearing of bone and life grew ever louder in his presence; as did the heightened breathing of a certain human in the corner of the room– who was reluctantly watching another of his own kind he had hardly known, yet still mourned– be torn to shreds by his less than human companion.
His less than human companion which he had thought of still somewhat human.
Until now, that was.
It nearly made Xisuma nauseous.
And soon another liquid had been sprawled over the steely surface; a mix of green and red and what just had to be bits of old, half digested bread.
Chest heaving, he staggered back, able to do nothing other than simply watch as his friend, the one who had tricked them all, the one they had accepted into their group even after all he had done to try to keep this horrible secret from them– kill this innocent human for his own gain.
And he had helped him.
Grian, feasting, manic in his nature– paid no mind to the others distress, and so it continued.
Ripping, bleeding, strengthening– and repeat.
Until finally, all that was left of the previously recognizeable, lively human who he had expertly ‘persuaded’ (tricked) into giving his life away just the day prior– was a mutilated corpse; a pile of mangled flesh and scarlet painted bone. And, as the tearing of claws and fangs and flesh began to slow, a singular thought was circulating in the ship leaders mind.
Was this a mistake?