Zac clawed his way out of the bathroom like the sole survivor of a horror movie, except the killer wasn't a guy in a mask, but a sentient, high-voltage espresso bean.
"Oooooo," he moaned, dragging his leopard-print clad body across the threshold. "I'm dieinggggg."
His arms gave out, and he let his face plant directly into the plush, antique runner he had threatened only minutes before. It was surprisingly comfortable. Soft, cool, and smelling faintly of lavender and old dust. He nuzzled it, a tear leaking from his eye.
'I'm so glad I didn't poop on you,' he thought deliriously. 'You're a good rug. You don't deserve that. Nobody deserves that.'
His stomach gurgled, a sound like a drowning trombone. Even lying face down on the floor in the middle of a hallway in Hell, all he could think about was the cramps. They came in waves, rolling through his intestines with the force of a tidal wave hitting a cardboard shack.
'This is what happens when Bune denies me my caffeine for two days,' he reasoned, squeezing his eyes shut as a fresh spike of pain hit him. 'I just… I just topped off the old tank a bit too high. Or maybe I filled a unleaded tank with diesel. Demonic diesel.'
He lay there for what felt like an eternity. Ten minutes passed. Then twenty. After half an hour of gastrointestinal distress, Zac had entered a meditative state of pure agony. He was floating in a void of cramps, trying to geometrically calculate exactly how one would douche a second arrow of pain from their lower gut, when a sound shattered his concentration.
"AVATAR!"
It was a bark of surprise and genuine fear.
Zac didn't even have time to lift his head. Strong, armored hands grabbed him by the waist and hoisted him into the air with frantic speed. He dangled there, limp and miserable, looking into the panicked amber eyes of the Wolf Captain.
"Oh, hayyyyy," Zac managed to wheeze, his voice trembling. "Come here often?"
"What is wrong?!" Marchosias demanded. He began to shake the leopard-print human, his claws digging into the fleece. "Speak to me! You are pale! You are sweating! Did… did one of the others…?"
"Uhgggg," Zac winced as his head flopped back and forth like a ragdoll. "Stop shaking… please… feels like someone jammed a hot poker into my guts…"
Marchosias froze. His fur stood straight up, puffing out his uniform until he looked twice his size. His pupils dilated into black saucers, and the temperature in the hallway dropped ten degrees.
"A hot poker," he repeated, his voice suddenly cold, hard, and terrifyingly quiet. "In your guts. Someone defiled you."
Zac's head finally lolled to a stop. He looked at the wolf with half-lidded, pain-filled eyes. "If only."
Marchosias blinked. He leaned in, his nose twitching as he took a deep sniff of the Avatar. He expected the scent of sex, of lust, of another demon's mark. Instead, he got a whiff of burnt coffee beans, sweat, and… something much more biological.
His nose wrinkled in disgust.
"Sorry," Zac managed, clutching his stomach. "Just dropped a bomb in there."
Marchosias stared at him for a long, baffled second. Then, realization dawned. He rolled his eyes so hard it looked painful, letting out an exasperated, steam-engine huff from his nostrils.
"Who brought drugs into my house?" he growled.
Zac opened his mouth to defend his coffee consumption, but another cramp hit him, and he just groaned.
"Fucking demon scum," Marchosias muttered, tucking Zac under his arm like a unruly surfboard. "Giving a fragile human body demonic party favors. They have no discipline."
He began to march down the hallway, his boots thudding heavily against the stone. Zac bobbed along under the wolf's arm, staring at the floor passing by. Even in his incapacitated state, being manhandled by the object of his most lust-filled fantasies was doing things to him.
"Marrchhhhh," Zac moaned, the vibration of the wolf's stride rattling his teeth. "I need you to take care of meeee. Not go off and give the others in-school suspensions."
Marchosias looked furious. His jaw was set, his eyes burning with the fire of a commander whose orders had been flouted. "Suspension? I am going to make them chew their own fucking hands off."
"Nooooo," Zac groaned, trying to wiggle his arm free to grab at the Captain's coat. "If they don't have hands, how will they pin me down?"
Marchosias slowed to a halt. He looked down at the sweaty, leopard-print bundle under his arm.
Zac smiled up at him weakly, a delirious, pain-killer-needed grin on his face.
Marchosias's eyebrow twitched. "They could just nail your hands to the headboard."
"Do you think stigmata is sexy?" Zac questioned, his eyes widening with a sudden, feverish thought. "I'm not big into body mods, but if you wanted me to have another hole to-"
"AVATAR!" Marchosias yelled, his voice cracking. He quickly covered his mouth with a cough, looking scandalized. "Bad! That is… sacrilegious! And gross!"
He glared down at Zac, trying to regain his authority. "Just tell me who gave it to you. Tell me who is going to be learning how to live without thumbs."
"You'll have to torture me!" Zac wailed, throwing his head back dramatically. "It's a deathstyle choice!"
Marchosias set his rugged jaw, his eyes flashing. "WHO GAVE YOU DRUGS?"
The voice wasn't the gravelly growl Zac was used to. It was the Command Voice, sweet, melodic, and terrifyingly absolute. It slid into Zac's ears like liquid gold, bypassing his conscious mind and wrapping around his will.
Zac squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists, fighting the overwhelming compulsion to spill his guts (figuratively, though literally was also a distinct possibility given his current state).
"It was..." Zac choked out, sweat beading on his forehead. "It was... a sexy demon."
"WHO?" Marchosias's voice washed over him again, a tidal wave of authority.
"The one," Zac gasped, his eyes watering from the effort of resistance, "whose dick I want to see."
"MORE SPECIFIC!" Marchosias growled, the beautiful resonance cracking just slightly with annoyance.
"He..." Zac stammered, "is the one with muscles bigger than mine... and I think he wants to bang."
Marchosias let out a frustrated howl that echoed down the corridor. "THAT DOESN'T HELP ME! STOP MESSING AROUND!"