The parasite didn't shy away from the healing spell. If anything, it grew faster, the healing magic affecting it just as well as it was affecting Bunny.
But it was still doing Bunny more good than it was doing the parasite, if only because there was more good to be done for him. The red leeched back out of his eye, his ears stopped bleeding, and the skin underneath his fur that had already been flayed from his meat reattached, soothed. The invasive feelers went to work redoing the damage, but more slowly than Nico's magic could heal it. His dislocated shoulder slid back into place with the same popping noise that had accompanied the injury.
The sting was still in his shoulder, poisoning him. He reached up and pulled it out, the barbed, six-inch spike ripping a new gaping wound in his shoulder. Blood spilled down his arm before Nico's healing fire touched and sealed it.
He bit back the scream of pain, sorry as he did that there were so many children around to see this. But he'd be sorrier if the parasite killed him in front of them, then moved to feed on them, too. He'd been broken, bitten, burned before, but nothing had ever compared to the pain of this - of something flaying him from the inside out, while it gnawed at the force that gave him life as a myth. There was a lot he needed to consider as he - and the others - killed this thing before it killed him, but the most important, the most pressing, the most towering thought screaming over all everything in his mind - over even the pain - was that this thing could not possibly be allowed to put this pain into any of these children.
A mundane fire burned, as always, beneath North's towering portrait. He looked at Nico, grateful, but without adequate time to put words to his gratitude. "Nice work on the healing flames. Keep 'em going."
He bounced to his freshly-healed feet and rabbit-quick, threw himself at the fireplace. He only turned the shoulder carrying the parasite into the blaze, but the smell of burning fur and flesh filled the workshop anyway. With it was a fouler smell - a searing stench of chemical fires, as the parasite screeched and detached its rings and rings of teeth from Bunny's shoulder. But the fires only glazed its tumorous form, searing something oily but not - apparently - flammable from its surface. It didn't smolder, as Bunny did.
He reached up, burned, fur smoking, grabbed the thing, ripped it from the feelers it had dug deep into his skin, and reached right into the fire to grab a flaming log with his bare paws. He jammed the burning log down the parasite's gaping mouth, and dropped his full weight on it, holding it down and away from the children as it smoked and screamed.
Because everyone in that room - everyone was a child in his eyes. The yetis, fully grown, but so shortly lived. Katherine, who'd been a child before he'd become the legend he was, but who was in so many ways the picture of why they protected the children as they did. Look at what children who were nurtured, protected, who knew they had such protectors who loved them - look at what heroes they became.
Poor Jack, who would always, in some way, be a child. He shouldn't have to see this sort of brutality, who had so much to lose, having only had anything worth losing for such a sort flash of his long life.
And the rest of these myth children now, too.
The parasite's thrashing slowed as thick, choking smoke poured from its sharp mouth, until its feelers only flopped limply against the weight upon it. Bunny kicked it into the fireplace, where it finally caught and blazed.
He tried to stand, but his foot was badly burned. He slumped over, rolling onto the least burned portions of himself.
The notion came to him that now that everyone was safe, he was quite safe to go into shock, and that was exactly what he was doing. His breath heaved in and out, and the fact that he couldn't feel much of the pain of his burns was not a good sign - but the crisis, now that it had become only him, was out of his control now.
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But it was still doing Bunny more good than it was doing the parasite, if only because there was more good to be done for him. The red leeched back out of his eye, his ears stopped bleeding, and the skin underneath his fur that had already been flayed from his meat reattached, soothed. The invasive feelers went to work redoing the damage, but more slowly than Nico's magic could heal it. His dislocated shoulder slid back into place with the same popping noise that had accompanied the injury.
The sting was still in his shoulder, poisoning him. He reached up and pulled it out, the barbed, six-inch spike ripping a new gaping wound in his shoulder. Blood spilled down his arm before Nico's healing fire touched and sealed it.
He bit back the scream of pain, sorry as he did that there were so many children around to see this. But he'd be sorrier if the parasite killed him in front of them, then moved to feed on them, too. He'd been broken, bitten, burned before, but nothing had ever compared to the pain of this - of something flaying him from the inside out, while it gnawed at the force that gave him life as a myth. There was a lot he needed to consider as he - and the others - killed this thing before it killed him, but the most important, the most pressing, the most towering thought screaming over all everything in his mind - over even the pain - was that this thing could not possibly be allowed to put this pain into any of these children.
A mundane fire burned, as always, beneath North's towering portrait. He looked at Nico, grateful, but without adequate time to put words to his gratitude. "Nice work on the healing flames. Keep 'em going."
He bounced to his freshly-healed feet and rabbit-quick, threw himself at the fireplace. He only turned the shoulder carrying the parasite into the blaze, but the smell of burning fur and flesh filled the workshop anyway. With it was a fouler smell - a searing stench of chemical fires, as the parasite screeched and detached its rings and rings of teeth from Bunny's shoulder. But the fires only glazed its tumorous form, searing something oily but not - apparently - flammable from its surface. It didn't smolder, as Bunny did.
He reached up, burned, fur smoking, grabbed the thing, ripped it from the feelers it had dug deep into his skin, and reached right into the fire to grab a flaming log with his bare paws. He jammed the burning log down the parasite's gaping mouth, and dropped his full weight on it, holding it down and away from the children as it smoked and screamed.
Because everyone in that room - everyone was a child in his eyes. The yetis, fully grown, but so shortly lived. Katherine, who'd been a child before he'd become the legend he was, but who was in so many ways the picture of why they protected the children as they did. Look at what children who were nurtured, protected, who knew they had such protectors who loved them - look at what heroes they became.
Poor Jack, who would always, in some way, be a child. He shouldn't have to see this sort of brutality, who had so much to lose, having only had anything worth losing for such a sort flash of his long life.
And the rest of these myth children now, too.
The parasite's thrashing slowed as thick, choking smoke poured from its sharp mouth, until its feelers only flopped limply against the weight upon it. Bunny kicked it into the fireplace, where it finally caught and blazed.
He tried to stand, but his foot was badly burned. He slumped over, rolling onto the least burned portions of himself.
The notion came to him that now that everyone was safe, he was quite safe to go into shock, and that was exactly what he was doing. His breath heaved in and out, and the fact that he couldn't feel much of the pain of his burns was not a good sign - but the crisis, now that it had become only him, was out of his control now.