WARNINGS: Cannibalism! And implied minor character deaths. Kinda SLASHY but can be viewed as FRIENDSHIP only

A/N: What is happening to my brain? PLOT BUNNIES KEPT COMING AT ME. But worry not, dearies, this one's finished (kinda . . .).

The plot of this story is heavily based on a manga (Japanese comic) that I will be mentioning in the last chapter so as not to spoil it. This story is divided in 2-3 chapter because I haven't edited the rest yet.

NOTE: This is in the second person point of view. I only made it so because it gets confusing in third person POV and I hate using first person POV. So, second POV it is.

DISCLAIMER: Characters are from BBC Merlin. Plot is from a manga. I don't own either of them.

Enjoy~

CHAPTER ONE

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Once upon a time, in a cave of a long-hidden village, a creature of ice-cold demeanor—one without blood, without tears, or without remorse—was entrapped by a powerful spell . . .

Those who entered the cave were never seen from again.

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"Ahhh! Don't kill me, I beg you." The shrill noise irritates you, attacks your ears like inconspicuous daggers.

You growl, ice-blue eyes narrowing and canines glinting in the dark. The cries and pleas increase in volume.

"Please! I-I-I'll give you money. I'll give you all the money I have. I have a sack of gold a-and land—" Pathetic. Pathetic weak little humans. And stupid too. You have no need for currency nor land.

You require something far more precious and impossible; something that will free you from the enchantment that imprisons you in this damp and disgusting cave.

A tear escapes the puny human's eye, the first of many. It is not what you are looking for. You release an animalistic snarl in frustration. The human recoils in fear. You smell the desperation rolling from him in waves. He struggles fruitlessly from your grasp. You smirk at his suffering.

A swift twist. A sickening crack. Blissful silence ensues.

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You do not know how long you are trapped in the dark cave, with half your body forced upright by the ice freezing you on the surrounding rocks. You can only move your face and chest – enough to breathe the air you no longer need and let your eyes wander through the endless darkness. You do not feel hunger, you do not feel thirst, you do not feel your heartbeat, you—you feel nothing aside from the occasional irritation and pains that comes from attempting to shatter the ice with your immobile arms.

You were once human, you remember. But that is another lifetime ago.

The long stretch of isolation and helplessness has turned you into something else. Your blonde beard and hair have grown from its trimmed and groomed state to a wild and uncontrollable long mess, dirtied by mold and mud. Their strands has formed a life of its own, acting as your hands and weapon. You do not know how you had come to have such power, just that you have had it for a very long time.

You have no sense of time except for the people obliviously wandering in the cave. Once, they came aplenty, they came in groups, all merry and laughing as they entered. Their flesh were soft and pliant when you first tried them, full of the coppery taste of blood and the chewy taste of raw muscle. At first, you had sunk your fangs into their skin out of curiosity—out of boredom because you had nothing else to do. But the rich taste of their blood and the feel of their flesh against your teeth got you addicted—these were the first sensations you felt in years.

Now, you have rarely heard a human even scuffle near the entrance. And when one does dare wander in, their blood tastes bitter with some kind of poison or pollutant. It does not stop you from eating them but it takes away the enjoyment you once feel for the action.

You have once felt shame in craving for human flesh. That was another lifetime ago.

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The demon—for the creature could be nothing else—was searching for a pure tear; it is something precious and magical and so rare that he did not even believe it existed . . . but it was his only hope.

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"Only the purest tear, born from extreme sorrow and sincerity, can free you, my King." A smirk. A mock of a lover's caress. "Find a tear as such and you can break the spell."

You jerk awake, eyes adjusting to the never-ending darkness. A dream. No, a memory; a promise of freedom. That is the main reason why you need these humans—the main reason why you frighten and kill them.

Nothing is more pure, sorrowful or sincere as a human's tear when they know death is inevitable. Nothing can compare to the despair and anguish they feel when all their hopes of life are dashed. But maybe . . . there is. Because you have yet to find the tear that will free you. The plethora of scattered bones speaks of your failures.

But perhaps the witch—for it was a witch, you remember that much—that imprisoned you had lied? Had she given you false hopes? It is not so far-fetched—she had wanted you to suffer as much as possible.

You lean your head back and exhale. Closing your eyes, you recall a time when the ice doesn't numb your body, when the rotten smell isn't permanent, when the sunlight warms your face, and when another's touch is gentle upon your skin.

Your mind is blank.

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Then, one normal day, a young man—barely out of his boyhood, really—bravely entered the cave where the demon lied.

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"Hmm, it's here, huh?" A deep voice awakens you.

Footsteps echoes at the entrance of the cave, signaling a new hope or perhaps another meal. Raising your head, you eagerly await the idiotic human who dare venture your cave. The steps are loud and clumsy, the owner just as so.

"Hello! Sir Demon King?" the voice speaks. "Hello! ?" The cave structure makes the sound reverberate throughout the area. "Whoah, great. Echo~~!"

You raise a brow at the childishness of the obviously adult human. But you have no time to ponder on that now. The figure comes in sight, tripping carelessly over the bones scattered about. Locks of dirty blonde hair dart in an attack.

"What the—"

You completely wrap the human in your hair— thick strands around the waist, bounding around the wrists and around the ankles. You ensure no chance of escape.

You lift the body off the ground and pull it closer to you. You come face-to-face with a mop of dark hair and pale face. The human is spluttering nonsense in surprise. You stare hard, ice-blue eyes unblinking as you wait for the shock to ebb and for the fear to replace it.

After a few moments, the human stares back. The face slowly blinks at you.

Then, a flash of white appears in the dark as the human smiles. "Oh, wow. You really exist!"

You frown at the obviously mentally-afflicted human. You scowl hard at him and shake him roughly. Why isn't he afraid? you ask yourself.

"Ow, ow, don't do that." You flip him upside down. "I'm getting dizzy. Stop it, you prat! I'm gonna throw up." You give him a puzzling gaze, trying to decipher if this is all a bravado the human is putting up.

You draw the human closer, face inches away from your own. You bare your fangs and you growl. The stupid human just imitates you (from the baring of canines to the growling) mockingly, then laughs boisterously like it is all some sort of jest. His eyes glimmer with mirth even in the dark.

It is the first laugh you have heard in centuries. It sends a chill down your spine—not necessarily unpleasant but not exactly pleasing either.

You growl again and coil a lock around his throat. You tighten your hold until you are surely blocking the airways of the pathetic creature. The human chokes, gasping noises coming from the back of his throat. You smirk triumphantly. The human's eyes flutter close, his limbs relax, and impossibly, the noises he makes quieted. He does not struggle in the least. Your smirk dies off and is replaced by a confused scowl. The human is still alive—you can hear the rapid beating of his heart—but you still smell no trace of fear. He faces the idea of death with no qualms.

You falter and look curiously. Some humans has tried to be brave the first few moments but they usually break soon after, especially after you show them how easily you could take away their lives. Won over by curiosity, you release your hold on the human's throat. The human takes heaving breaths, one after another. His eyes relay confusion over his spared life. His expression still holds a note of wonder and holds no terror.

With a voice you thought you have lost years ago, you speak, "You," you start.

"It's Merlin," he interjects with a grin, practically beaming.

"Shut up. I didn't ask your name." You couldn't completely remove the irritation in your tone. Your obvious agitation makes the human's smile even bigger. "Why are you not afraid?" You feel the human startle at the question—or perhaps at your voice. "Your death was foretold the moment you stepped into this cave." Your voice is hoarse and unfamiliar.

The human's expression slips into something softer and somewhat sad before the cheeky smirk is back. You wonder if you have imagined the change.

"Maybe you're not very scary," he replies.

"Look around you," you frown. "These bones say otherwise."

"Well, I can't very much see in the dark, can I?" the human retorts, looking at you as if you were the idiot. "But I guess it does stink here." He crinkles his nose. Then, he stares at you accusingly. "How long has it been since you've taken a proper bath?"

You feel—You feel insulted—indignant. And a spark of a laugh bubbles in your chest. You blink rapidly at the newly reacquainted feeling. It has been a long time since you feel anything other than fury and irritation. You abruptly uncurl your hair around the human's limbs and let him go. He hits the ground with a yelp, sprawling on a few bones. You have no use for humans who are not afraid. And something that doesn't struggle takes away the fun you could have in a meal. (You deny the spark of anxiety developing in you because of the human—this human has made you feel.)

"Ow, that hurt, you clod! And—" several clatters of rocks against bones filled the silence. "These bones are hard and sharp!" The human stands up and claps the dirt out of his hands. He attempts to tidy his already soiled clothes.

"Go, and never return. You're the first one I spared and you should count yourself lucky." You have said more words in the span of a few minutes than you had for years. You have forgotten the sound of your own voice and the words feel like they are being said by a detached stranger.

The human just stares and smiles some more, a mischievous look upon his face. "Again, my name's Merlin. I live in the village several clicks from here. Sorry for crashing into your home like this but when my mother told me about the demon trapped in this cave, I didn't really believe—"

"Leave," you growl and really, how can someone be as idiotic as this one? "Or I will eat you," you threaten.

"Are you hungry?" the human suddenly asks with a tilted head.

"What?" you reply, wrong-footed.

The human blinks and something akin to realization dawns on his face. Has he finally realized the impending doom he was about to face moments ago? You prepare to strike, hoping that horror would soon fill the human and he may be able to shed the tear you are looking for.

However, he instead drops a satchel strapped to his back on the ground. You blink in surprise. You have not noticed the satchel before. It is enormous and looks almost ready to burst with the things it contains inside. The dark-haired human rummages through it and it occurs to you that he may be searching for a weapon. Locks of dirty blonde tenses in attack and darts forward.

But before you could do anything more, the human straightens his stance and holds out a red round object that almost covers his palm at the size of it. You halt your attack, curiosity winning you over.

It is an apple.

With a sudden movement, the human shoves the fruit in your mouth. Your fangs bite down on it instinctively. Sweetness burst forth on your tongue, the kind of tang that you haven't expected to taste yet again. Lit candles, colorful gowns and dresses, skillful jesters, glamorous jewelries, and a mouthwatering feast flashed before your eyes. Fruit juice flowed down your chin.

The human pulls out the apple from your mouth with a crunch. You chew the portion in your mouth slowly, savoring its texture and taste.

"Delicious, right?" the human grins. "It was from a tree I grew myself. It's called an apple," he says, enunciating the word like he was talking to a child.

"I know it's an apple," you hiss. You hate being talked to like a simpleton. A lock of hair dashes and plucks the fruit from the human's hand.

You eat it greedily, swallowing even the seeds and core as you finish. It is a refreshing change compare to what you have been eating for centuries. You lick your lips, not wanting the taste to fade just yet. The fruit ignites sparks of colors in your vision and the buzzing noise you constantly hear fades away.

The human blinks stupidly yet again. "You really were hungry." He gives you a thoughtful glance before turning his gaze towards the satchel. "You want another one?"

Unable to stop yourself, you nod rapidly.

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"I've been walking all day," the human informs you after finishing an apple for himself, badly stifling a yawn. You are currently savoring your fourth one, sucking all the juice first before taking one bite after another. "I'm going to take a nap, alright?"

You do not think the human is actually waiting for a reply so you do not give him one. He just gives you a tired smile and lays down on a portion of the ground clear of human bones, using the satchel as a pillow. After a while, the cave is filled with his soft snores.

You finish your apple, eating the core and all. The incredulity of the situation dawns on you. He's sleeping, you think with disbelief. He's sleeping right in front of me. I could still reach him with my hair. You contemplate killing him right there and then—like you should have done a while ago. Your hair flicks restlessly. You stare at the face turned to you, pale and unguarded. He looks incredibly young. Defenseless, clumsy, idiotic.

It wouldn't be interesting to eat such a defenseless creature—a human that wouldn't even struggle or beg. If I eat him, I might catch his stupidity, you reason. And you suppose that you should spare his life in return for giving you the apples.

It is with these thoughts that your eyes drift shut and sleep overcomes you.

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"How do I know this 'pure tear' really exist?" you rage against the ice bounding you to the rocks.

She pauses at the entryway, contemplating. Then, she half-turns, ruby lips upturned in a saccharine smile. "There is another way to break the enchantment."

Hope flares bright and warm in your chest. "How?"

She chuckles ominously. Her mouth opens to say—

You jerk awake to a warm light encasing the cave. The orange glow flickers and moves, the shadows dancing in turn. For a dazed moment, you think you are feeling the warmth of the sunlight against your face. Then, you come fully awake.

There is a fire.

The logs feeds it heartily, glowing embers flying like dust in the air. The licks of the flames click against the wood.

"So even demons sleep, huh."

Your gaze snap to the human sitting beside the fire.

His legs are held loosely against his chest, chin atop his crossed arms on his knees. His eyes—the blue of stormy clouds and restless seas—shimmers in the soft firelight as he looks at you curiously. His expression leaves you confused.

"You should have escaped when you had the chance," you mutter.

"You told me you'll spare my life," is the cocky reply.

You scowl, eyes narrowing. "I can change my mind if you insist on staying."

The human just hums contemplatively—he's weighing his options like his life isn't hanging in the balance— and reaches out with a stick to arrange the logs around the fire. He adds another piece of wood.

"Do you have a name?" he asks eventually.

The question gives you a start. A name? Name? You are once human—you have or had one. You haven't thought about it for a long while. What is your name? What is it? You try to recall it. My King, my King, my King. Name? Laughs echo in the halls, people dancing, gowns swishing, banners fluttering in the air, looking over the battlements as the sun rises on the vast fields and markets of the city. Dear, your highness, my lord, sir, sir, sir. Metals ringing as they clash, fall, and slice. Pyres are lit, people are gathering, screams echoes in the courtyard, an axe is falling, a noose is hanging with a body swinging. Murderer of the innocents, love, don't. My prince, brother, brother, do not. Ar—

"—thur." you breathe out. "Arthur," you repeat unconsciously. You have found your name. After centuries of losing it, you have found it. It leaves you with a fluttery feeling in your stomach and you feel somewhat breathless.

"Arthur." The name rolls off the human's tongue smoothly like silk on skin. He grins. "Arthur it is, then." He turns to you, curious. "So . . . how long have you been here?"

You raise your shoulders as much as you can, which is a scant centimeters given the restraints, in a shrug. You have long since stopped wondering the answer. Then, "Do you still have apples?"

The human chuckled, hand already rummaging through his satchel. You bristle, feeling insulted at being mocked at. Something must have shown in your face because the human waves his free hand.

"I'm not laughing at you," he says, presenting another apple with unnecessary flourish. Your hair plucks it from the hand. "It's just . . . You're the first one to ever like it. I tried selling them but the people in my village tend to avoid me as much as they can." A self-deprecating smile twists his lips.

You take a bite from the fruit, chewing it slowly just like before. Swallowing, you then ask, "Why? Do they think your mental-affliction contagious?" Because if the human is staying, you might as well entertain yourself by talking to the lowly being.

Your statement causes the human to laugh. Then, the smile that comes over the mortal's face is bittersweet. "They've always condemned people who have shown themselves to be different."

"Different?"

"Yes," he replies, eyes staring into the fire. "I don't have a father. Or rather, he abandoned my mother when I was but a babe." There is a resigned tone to his voice.

You hum. "Even though much time has passed, people's thinking have yet to change," some unknown force encourages you to say. "In my time, unmarried women who bore children can be stoned to death."

"In your time?" The human cocks a brow at you. "Did you mingle with us humans before you got trapped here?"

"I . . . I remember a time when I did. When I . . . I was human," you confess before swallowing the rest of the apple. This is the first conversation you have held in years. You feel strangely loquacious. After all, sooner or later, the human would leave. You would once again only have the rocks for company. Perhaps . . . it is better to take advantage of the company this time, you admit to yourself.

Wide blue eyes stare at you, incredulous. "You were human?"

Instead of replying, you let your gaze travel through the cave. There are drawings along its walls and ceiling, you realize, depicting animals and tribes. The marks are crude and shaky but they are no doubt ancient. You stare in amazement, having never seen them so clearly before even though you have been here for so long. The firelight dances along the walls, giving off the illusion that the drawings are moving. A warm stir of delight bubbles in your chest at the sight.

"What did you do to the bones?" you can't help but ask as you notice that there is not a single bloody corpse on the floor.

"I dragged them outside and buried them," the human immediately answers, a note of solemnity in his tone.

You wait for the accusation. Humans who's loved one died by your hands usually come to the cave in search for vengeance. They have called you names, have tried to make you feel guilty for what you have done. You have long since lost your conscience and the capacity to care so it is all a useless endeavor. It is not long before those people joined their loved ones in the afterlife.

However, the accusation did not come even after a couple of seconds. You merely hum then, silently wondering what had made this human different from the others.

The cave still smell atrocious but with no corpses, the stink would hopefully dissipate (and there are space for more bodies in the future).

"So . . . you were human?" The human asks again. "What happened then? How did you become like . . . this?" his eyes track down towards your feral state.

Deciding that there is no harm in telling, you reply, "There was a witch."

The human's head snaps up, eyes boring through you. "You were cursed," he deduces, wonder and pity in his voice.

You do not want the pity. You give him a glare but he does not seem perturbed. He gives you a contemplative look. Then, as if deciding on something, he nods to himself. The human gets to his feet and steps closer to you.

"Why were you cursed? What did you do?" Wide blue eyes stare at you, curious.

"I did nothing!" you growl and watch with satisfaction as the human flinches back.

However, after a few seconds, he continues moving forward, face unreadable.

"Witches don't just curse anyone," he says as fearless as ever. You frown at the implication. He is close enough to reach a hand on the ice holding you. And that's what he does.

You are unable to do anything, shocked at the boldness of this human. So you merely let him, your hair flicking agitatedly around you both.

"You're cold," he mutters, finger tracing over the ice near your chest. You feel the ghost of his touch upon your skin, fingertips skittering at the edges of where ice meets skin. The pale hand then travels across your chest, pressing a warm palm right over your heart. An electric shock goes through your whole being at the sensation. From the contact, a red hot feeling flows through your veins. It dissipates the cold and for the first time in centuries, you feel extremely warm.

"You don't—" the human starts to say, blinking confusedly, but cut off as you let out a choked gasp.

The human pulls his hand back as if burned. Immediately, the heat recedes and the cold creeps in. It is a cruel sensation, feeling cold again after experiencing that delightful warmth.

"I'm sorry. Are you alright?" He wears an apologetic expression, hands hovering but never touching.

You come back to your senses. You scowl, suddenly and inexplicably furious at this lowly being—for his fearlessness, for the apples, for the new sensations, and for the warmth he tantalizingly offers. You roughly shove the human with all locks of your hair. He yelps, soaring over the air and landing with a sickening crack several feet away.

You start panting harshly, cold seeping even into your lungs. It makes your breathing moist and slightly painful. After a few moments, you finally manage to calm down. You stop inhaling the air you no longer need.

The logs in the fire clicks loudly in the silence, snapping you out of your trance. The fire still burns heartily, the satchel beside it casting a large shadow on the ground. A few feet away, the human's unmoving figure lay crumpled on the ground.

Something stirs inside you at the sight; something that makes your mouth dry and your chest grow colder than before. You recall the devastating sound he made before he hits the ground and the sound of his body smacking onto the rocks. Slowly, hesitantly, locks of dirty blonde hair approach him. You lift him off the cold stones and brings him closer to the fire. His head lolls to the side as you lay him back down, body pliant and still.

Is he dead? Have you accidentally killed the one being you promised to spare?

You stare at his pale and relaxed face, willing him awake. He remains stubbornly motionless for several minutes. Losing patience, you form a semi-sharp end with your hair and prod his face. After two more pokes, the human lets out a groan of pain. He swats the annoying lock of hair, movement sluggish as if he doesn't know how to use his limbs.

"Hmm, m'wake," he mumbles, struggling to even open his eyes. He attempts it a few times, only half opening them each time, before ultimately giving up and keeping them closed. You give him another sharp poke on the cheek and he jerks awake and upright.

"Ow," he hisses, rubbing his head and swaying. Without your permission, locks of hair steadies the human in his sitting position.

He blinks confusedly for a few seconds before he seems to remember what happened. Slowly turning his head to you, instead of a wary or fearful glance, he gives you a rather intimidating glare.

"You could have told me it was a sore subject," he grumbles. "Instead of throwing me into a wall like a caveman, you prat."

You stare in shock at the gall of this human. But really, you shouldn't be surprise anymore. You just huff in reply. Who is he to lecture you about manners? By the looks of his tattered clothing, he is nothing but a mere peasant raised outside of court decorum.

"I guess you forgot human etiquette while you were in here." He scrunches his nose. He grabs his satchel and rummages through it. He fishes a thick white cloth and presses it at the back of his head, wincing all the way. You see the cloth stain red with blood. His other hand goes to rub his chest. You wonder if he has broken his ribs.

"Perhaps it's because I'm no longer human and those etiquettes no longer apply to me," you answer belatedly.

The human gives you an interested look, placing the cloth down. "You don't have a heartbeat, you know."

Don't you? You never really thought about it before.

"People in my village calls you a creature without blood, without tears and without remorse," he says in a matter-of-fact tone. Then, he continues in an overly casual manner, "They say you were once a king but you sold your soul to a demon to gain more wealth and became an evil incarnate yourself."

A demon? Perhaps that is what you have turn into; something without a heartbeat, something that does not need to breath, and something that acts so callous towards any living being.

"Then, a shaman locked you in here to stop your reign of terror," he finishes. "I guess it was actually a witch then."

You decide what to say in reply. You remember what truly happened, something you do not recall a few hours prior. You wonder what has changed that made your mind clearer than it has been for centuries. "People like to put a creative twists to the truths," you settle on saying.

"True," the human responds, nodding in assent. He does not pry for the real version of events. Instead, he glances down to the cloth in his hand and exclaims in surprise, "Gods, I'm bleeding."

"You should probably clean it up," you say, feeling something akin to amusement at the human's indignant splutters.

This time, you do not have the will to suppress the emotion.

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And an unlikely friendship started . . .

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A/N: Unbeta'ed so all errors you see are mine.

I'm trying on a new writing style in which I give as little details as possible and let the readers' imagination fill in the gap. Whenever I get descriptive, the pace of the story lags and it gets boring so I hope this is better. :D

Kindly point out any glaring errors you see. Constructive criticisms are very much welcomed!

Have an incredibly awesome day, everyone!

~ Vividpast