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Home	By : sillyneko345 Category: +G through L > Jak & Daxter Views: 6955 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the game this story is based on (Jak & Daxter) nor do I make any money from writing it.

Chapter List
- 1-Ch. 1
- 2-Ch. 2
- 3-Ch. 3
- 4-Ch. 4
- 5-Ch. 5
- 6-Epilogue
- 1
- 2
AN: This little fic was written 100% for Grimreaperchibi, because I never cease to fangirl over her work and I thought she needed a present. And it's been in the works for a long time, so no booing at me for not working on my other works in progress.
Characters: Belong to Naughty Dog, Inc.
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“…and let us trust that our just and earnest sacrifice will be accepted by the demon, thus leaving our city and its people in peace.”
The words lingered in Daxter’s ears long after the murmurs and footsteps of the crowd had faded away. He hung slack in the ropes that bound him to a tall wooden stake, wrapped tight around his torso from his hips to just below his shoulders, staring blankly ahead as the twilight blanketing the wastelands gave way to true night broken only by the ring of torches pounded into the sand around him.
No one had said a word. Not one of the several hundred who had gathered to bear witness had protested, questioned whether it was right to leave him there, helpless, as darkness fell across the landscape like a death knell. This was earnest? This was just? He had done nothing wrong! The surge of fresh anger that followed the recent memory gave him a momentary burst of strength and he struggled anew, writhing and twisting against the rope.
Had he known that the damn medallion he had drug out of the catacombs-turned-sewers under the city was a demonic artifact he would have left the cursed thing down there to rot. Anyone in their right mind could tell you that demons were a terrifying breed of nightmare—fast, powerful, cunning. Bloodthirsty. Able to channel the dark energy of the earth. But he hadn’t known what the strange, crumbling stone disc was. All he had been thinking about was where he could pawn it to some artifact collector or other in exchange for a decent meal or two.
Veger knows damn good an’ well the guards have been seein’ that demon for weeks, way before I found that stupid amulet. I didn’t call that thing here any more than he won the election fair an’ square. I was just a convenient target.
And he was. No one would miss him, after all. A long-time street urchin and thief by necessity with no family, no extraneous ties. With sightings of the beast becoming more and more frequent, the public had demanded action sooner rather than later. Daxter, caught in the wrong place at the wrong time under exactly the wrong circumstances, proved to be the perfect guest of honor at a ritual sacrifice designed to appease the menacing demon before it brought harm to the city and upstanding citizens of Haven.
Haven. Ha. What a joke. Haven ta filthy rats like Veger. Maybe I’m better off in some demon’s gut.
As if on cue, a chill wind flickered the torch flames. Daxter shivered. His ragged clothes did little in the way of providing warmth, and his “shoes” were merely strips of ratty cloth wound around his feet and ankles. The wastelands were notoriously inhospitable; blistering in the heat of day and frigid cold by night. If the demon didn’t find him before morning there was a real possibility he might still die—of hypothermia.
The entirely cheerful thought was interrupted by a sudden throbbing warmth from the region of his chest. The redhead looked down in shock and alarm. The amulet that had been strung onto a strip of leather cord and looped around his neck to act as a demonic homing beacon… was glowing. With each nearly audible pulse it gave off an eerie spark of purple light that flickered and twisted in the darkness like a living thing. And, as it pulsed, each throb stronger and surer than the last, nervous ears twitched upright at a sudden whisper of sound that grew louder almost in time with the pulses. The steady rhythm of wingbeats in the dark.
The acrid taste of true fear began to rise in his throat. Oh, gods. This was actually happening. Daxter choked down a hopeless whimper and struggled once more, but he might as well have been trying to move mountains. A bull yakow would have been unable to pull free of the ropes that secured him, let alone a skinny, underfed boy who hadn’t eaten in nearly two days. By the time he had finally given up, panting and limp once more against the immovable stake at his back, the sound of wings had gone quiet.
The stone against his chest was all but vibrating, so warm it was almost too hot. It came as no real surprise when he realized that he could feel the demon’s approach before he heard soft footfalls in the sand, or saw the looming shadow creeping toward the torchlight. Just closing his eyes and waiting for the end was a temptation at this point, but somehow he couldn’t. He needed to see what was coming, no matter how bad it was. After all, when else was he ever going to get to see what demons really looked like?
Daxter’s answer, when it stepped cautiously inside the ring of firelight, was as surprising as it was terrifying. The redhead’s insides knotted in fear even as he stared in wonder. If this particular specimen was any indication of the rest of demon kind, demons were absolutely gorgeous.
The palest of gray skin covered a flawlessly muscled form, identical to a human’s but for the giant, leathery purple wings folded along its back and a long, sturdy tail that was carefully held up away from the torches as the creature moved closer. Its feet—his feet; this demon was very obviously male despite the covering of a cloth wound around slim hips to just above the knees—were also different. He walked on the balls of them, elevating his body higher, like the feet of the leaper lizards sometimes used as mounts in the city. Each toe was tipped with a jet black claw, as were the fingers on giant hands. Equally black horns, like polished onyx, jutted from a shoulder-length mane of sleek white hair, curled backwards slightly, and ended in wicked points. And his eyes. They too were deep and pitch black, like spilled ink, as they gazed at the bound redhead in obvious… curiosity?
Daxter’s heart hammered double time and he swallowed hard as he met those strange eyes. But as much as he feared to find cruel anticipation or feral hunger in that look, all he could detect was curiosity. He had always prided himself on being a better than average people-reader, and the demon before him was practically exuding an aura of puzzlement. He stepped closer still, clawed toes sinking into the sand, until Daxter could have reached out to touch him if his hands hadn’t been tied to his sides and trembling uncontrollably.
The demon’s eyes had fallen to the medallion around the redhead’s neck. When he looked up his ears twitched in clear inquiry and his head tilted to the side. The almost tangible aura of curiosity heightened until it became a low-grade buzz, filling the air between them. Where?
Daxter gasped and jerked back reflexively. The word hadn’t been spoken, but he had heard it as clearly as if it had been injected into his brain. Maybe this seeming projection of thoughts and feelings was the reason he had heard it said that demons had the ability to mess with a person’s mind... “W-where? Ya m-mean, where did I get it?”
A nod, a swish of that long, thick tail behind him.
“I f-found it. In the sewers under the city. S-sorry if that’s a problem.”
A horned head tossed in a dismissive shake as a hand stretched out to lift the cracked stone circle off Daxter’s chest with one long claw under the leather strings. The rune-inscribed stone sparked again at the demon’s touch as he inspected it with interest. Very old.
Good gods. No one had ever seen fit to tell him that demons were this intelligent. He had been expecting a slavering beast that would tear him limb from limb! Certainly not this beautiful creature that, while obviously deadly, seemed to have chosen to carry on something of a conversation with him. He watched nervously as the amulet was lowered back to his chest and black eyes roamed elsewhere.
The query that came next was somehow amused. Why?
Oddly enough, Daxter knew at once what was meant by it. Why was he out here, tied to a pole in the night chill with demonic property around his neck? He looked up anxiously, trying to read unreadable eyes. Did this demon really not know what was supposed to happen next? Or was he simply playing a game of cat and mouse before dinnertime? Lack of an answer kept the redhead’s mouth firmly shut.
Mine? The buzz of projected amusement kept up as the demon slowly circled around the stake, the tip of that tail twitching in his humor. Mine. A chuckle rumbled from deep within a muscled chest.
Daxter cringed as the tail brushed his leg, the fear rising again. Then it did know why he had been left here. What the creature would do with that information, well. That was the trick question. I don’t wanna die. The thought leapt unbidden to his mind, surprising in its truth. Life wasn’t great. Life wasn’t even good. But it was still life. I don’t wanna die. I don’t wanna die. I don’t wanna die—!
Very suddenly, the demon froze. He looked the redhead up and down with a new uncertainty.
An abrupt feeling of vertigo hit Daxter from out of nowhere. His head spun as he tried desperately to focus on the immediate threat in front of him, but somehow he could also see how he himself must look. He felt his own fear from another’s perspective, sharp and metallic in the cold air. He could see his own shivers, and the miserable slant of his own ears, and the tears beading unbidden at the corners of his eyes. He could see the dim glow of Haven City not too far distant.
The demon’s anger pushed his consciousness back where it belonged, and Daxter whined with the stress of it all. Oh, gods. The thing was mad now. But angry at what? He had done nothing but stand there! He clenched his eyes shut tightly and braced himself as the much bigger figure suddenly stalked toward him with renewed purpose, a clawed hand raised for the killing swipe. Gonna die. Gonna die, gonna die, gonna die—
Five razor sharp blades frayed the ropes around him like new scissors through thin thread. Daxter stumbled away from the stake, dazed at his sudden freedom and the continued absence of messy death. Lack of food and water, the numbness in half frozen limbs held immobile for hours ensured that the dizziness washing through him was more than temporary, and he fell smack against the immovable wall of muscle that was the demon’s chest. Oddly, his first thought was not one of mindless panic and the urge to flee. He’s really… warm.
Arms like iron bands wrapped around him a moment later, lifting the all but unresisting redhead off his feet. MINE.
Such was the last clear thought Daxter was aware of in the projection department, echoing between them with a fierce finality as huge wings suddenly unfurled above them. He had the presence of mind, directly before his vision blacked and gravity shattered around him, to be thankful that he was probably about to miss one truly hellish ride.
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To be continued.
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(2nd)AN: So, here's the dealio, peeps. This fic is already done. Aaaaaaalll of it. So I will, for the first time in my sad existence as a writer, be posting the remained of it on a REGULARLY SCHEDULED BASIS, OMG. Like, every Friday. Does Friday sound good? I think so. Friday it is. See you next Friday!
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