Taking

It was impossible to see. Possibly because there was nothing to see, or possibly because he needed new eyes. When had he replaced them last? Had he? He wasn't sure how long he had been standing there, in the void of a hallway, standing before the door and waiting for it to swing open. His back hurt. And his neck. Pretty much all of him. He was used to it. Though every once in a while it was nice to relieve some of it.

He could hear the door swing open, though he couldn't see it. But what he could see was a man, frozen instantaneously by his appearance. A younger man, whose parts were still working. And best of all, a man with a nose. A bruised nose, from the look of it, but bruised was better than broken and battered, and it was certainly better than hanging by a string. His entire body surged and lurched, throwing his weight onto the man's body. He could see the man trying to flee, but he was too slow. Just like all the ones before him.

His fingers clenched around the fresh nose, digging into flesh and muscle and breaking the bone beneath them. He pulled, strength made by centuries of practice, and could feel the man's face beneath his fingers tearing apart. He pulled harder and harder still, feeling the man attempt to fight him off, though each blow felt more like a gentle pat on the belly than a punch thrown in desperation. He had forgotten if that was because of his strength, or because he had simply experienced far worse already. It hardly mattered.

The cracking and splitting was loud as the nose finally came free, and he looked down at the bloodied and bruised appendage in his hand. It didn't look as fresh as it had on the man's face. Still fresher than his, though. He finished tearing off what little was left of his own nose and pushed the new one against the open wound, feeling the curse pulse through his body anew. Within moments the blue vines were extending from him, grabbing the nose and fusing it to his flesh like a welder fused metal.

The man before him vanished as the door slammed shut, and for a brief moment he could smell the iron of the spilt blood in the room. It was fresh. It was lively. It reminded him of the old days.

And then he set once more to waiting.