Chapter Text
For Will Graham, everyday life was normal. At least, somewhat. Well, as much as it could be with being under the watchful eye of the Old Ones.
They’d been there at the beginning of the universe, and would be there at the inevitable end. Their favorite past time? Fucking with humans and making their lives miserable. They were desperate for praise and worship, and there were countless numbers of them. Some however, were stronger than others. The more they’re worshiped, the more power they hold. Every mortal worshiped one, most choosing to stay with the patron god of their bloodline. Some were seen as less ‘acceptable’ to worship than others, with their worshipers being called barbaric and insane.
The one god that was seen as the pinnacle of their kind, their de facto leader, was the one who was the most cruel, savage, and uncaring towards humanity. His name was often invoked by those on the fringes of society, those seen as insane and unhinged, the kinds of people who became famous for very unsavory things. This god was seen as the patron god of killers and hedonists, and his followers were known for their unwavering dedication to him.
This god? Was the one Will Graham had dedicated his life to, the one his entire bloodline had worshiped since ancient times. In the beginning when Will was young, he was raised not to fear this god, but to think of him as the ‘heavenly’ equivalent of a father figure. One who nurtured his followers and protected them. His parents spoke of the horrors that their god was capable of, of how deranged and evil he was. But it was never in a negative light, of course. They spoke of him as something to be feared, to be respected. But also, to be loved and embraced for his cruelty, for it was never unwarranted.
As Will grew older, the stories about his god grew more and more disturbing, his true nature revealed to him. He learned of how his god slaughtered people who he considered to be rude, to be unworthy of taking another breath. Of how he displayed them in gruesome, yet artistically beautiful tableaus as a warning to the wicked, to scare them straight, lest they become his next victim. He feasted on the bodies of humans, cooked their organs and meat and served them to his fellow gods in legendary and extravagant dinner parties. And sometimes, very, very lucky mortals. For it was considered a momentous honor to be invited to one of these events as a mortal, and only those he deemed truly worthy would be extended an invitation. He rewarded his worshipers well, and for a select few, the ones he deemed to be his most dedicated and devoted, he would grace them with his unholy presence and seat them at his dinner table as an honored guest.
Will grew up in absolute awe of this god, having been lucky enough to witness a few of his displays in the flesh as a young child and again as a teenager. And every one he saw in person had stuck with him for his entire life thus far. They impacted Will much more than the average person, as Will had been born with a special gift, one that was so rare that it was bestowed upon someone only once every few generations.
The gift of pure empathy, the ability to see through another’s eyes, whether mortal or god, as if he and they were one and the same, their souls conjoined. But for Will, it was as much of a blessing as it was a curse, as it made him that much more susceptible to becoming lost in another person’s mind. As a result, Will made it a point to never keep eye contact with someone for too long, fearing that he’d be able to read them far too well and experience their emotions as if they were his own. As a direct result of his gift, Will never interacted with many people, finding it extremely difficult to associate with other’s, even his own family. His teen years had been extraordinarily difficult for Will, and instead of making friends and going out in public, Will had preferred to isolate himself in his own room, content to read and learn as much as he could about the Old Ones and the natural world. He found solace in fishing and studying insects, and was very studious and intelligent.
During those formative years of Will’s life, he was incredibly depressed and wished for death every day. He’d even attempted to take his own life a few times, but was always stopped by some otherworldly force. The circumstances would always change once he’d attempted, and his attempts would always be thwarted, and miraculously, he’d survive. His parents had told him that it meant that he must be special, that their god had plans for him once he matured and made his way out into the world. Will had doubted them, chalking it up to just pure luck that he hadn’t been successful yet.
Over time, Will’s opinion had changed. He had started to take comfort in the knowledge that his god was looking out for him, that maybe he had noticed that Will was utterly unique among his creations and deserved a chance to flourish. He began to regularly pray to him again, and leave more offerings to him, mostly of his own blood and the occasional deer carcass that he was able to hunt. His god had been said to comfort his worshipers in their time of need, to speak to them when he thought it necessary. So Will began to establish a much deeper relationship with him, fully dedicating himself to his god, and credited him with saving Will’s life every time he’d tried to snuff it out.
So when Will had turned eighteen and the time came to begin the ritual of promising his mortal soul to the god of his choice, it had been a stupidly easy decision. He’d been allowed to learn of other gods and explore devotion to them, but none had held a candle to his god. When he’d been tasked with finding a suitable sacrifice to slaughter in the small circle of his own blood at his family’s shrine, Will had been more than ready. At midnight on the final full moon of the month, Will had chained his victim to the shrine, brandishing his father’s hunting knife as he watched from afar, there to confirm that the ritual was being practiced properly.
Will took a deep breath, collecting himself as he spoke the words of the dedication prayer in the language of the Old Ones, standing in front of the bound, screaming man before him. It was now or never, and Will had never been more ready.
On the last word of the prayer, Will brought the knife to his forearm and sliced a clean, deep line down it as he hissed through clenched teeth. He let his blood flow freely and let it drip down onto the ground of the shrine before him, as it mixed with the cursed earth beneath his feet. It was an offering given to his god through his own free will, a symbol of his dedication to his infernal god. It would nourish the soil that laid beneath the shrine, imbuing it with his own life force from this moment on. It would nourish his god, as he craved and demanded the blood of his followers, never quite satisfied, but always content with the offerings.
Now, came the fun part.
A bright, wicked grin spread across Will’s face as he began to repeat the prayer, staring his victim straight in the face as he raised the bloodied knife high. The man kept begging him to stop, to reconsider, but even he knew that this was the end for him. His pleas fell on deaf ears as Will plunged the knife into the man’s chest, blood spurting from it as Will grit his teeth, continuing the prayer as he sank it deeper. Blood bubbled from the man’s mouth, painting Will’s face with it, as Will took hold of the knife with both hands.
The sound the man made when Will sliced downward was nothing short of a rapturous moment for Will.
He gurgled around the blood in his throat, howling in agony as Will forced the knife down in a rough line from his chest to navel, easily splitting the skin and severing the muscle of it. It was horrific, disgusting, and shockingly, utterly arousing to Will. Will honest to god moaned at the sound of the man’s ribs splintering into pieces, the slick squelch of organs being severed and punctured. When he withdrew the knife, the man was on his last breaths, dangerously close to death. Will couldn’t help but lick the man’s blood off his lips, moaning at the taste of it.
But Will’s job wasn’t quite done yet.
With a deep, shaky breath, Will dropped the knife and brought his bloody hands to both sides of the massive gash he’d carved into the man’s body, and pulled it open. The bones beneath Will’s hands further cracked and shattered as Will grunted in exertion and ripped the sides wide open, letting the organs inside spill out into a ghastly, slick pile on the shrine. Will just laughed, high and manic, seeing the light in the man’s eyes extinguish as his blood stained hands withdrew from the corpse. For a moment, Will was absolutely hypnotized by the sight before him. It was horrifying, the man’s dead eyes wide open and staring up at the sky, unseeing and milky with death. From sternum to navel he was split open wide, with the two upper halves pulled to the side to widen the gash. The organs that hadn’t slid out of the cavern of the corpse’s chest were still there, tattered and serrated with the force Will had driven the knife into the poor bastard’s flesh. When Will brought his wet hands up to his face to examine them, he saw how the moonlight reflected off the blood and gore that covered his arms and hands, struck by the sight.
Suddenly, there was a voice echoing in Will’s skull, a voice he’d never heard before, but instantly knew the owner of.
His family’s patron god, Hannibal Lecter, the father of filth, debauchery, and madness.
“It looks quite black in the moonlight, doesn’t it, my dear?”
A shiver clawed it’s way down Will’s spine at the words, every hair standing on end at the low, accented whisper of his god’s voice. Will focused on it, looking from his hands back to the gruesome scene he’d created, and smiled.
“It does,” Will rasped, barely able to get the words out from how sore his throat felt from the repetitions of the prayer.
“And what do you think of it?” Hannibal whispered, his voice sultry and soothing.
Will grinned, a cackling laugh threatening to claw its way out of his throat.
“It’s beautiful,” Will breathed, finally letting his laugh out and expressing his madness, the madness he knew had been inside of him since birth. Will knew he looked unhinged, laughing madly and shrewdly as he collapsed to his knees in the pile of the sacrifice’s rapidly cooling organs, running his soaked hands over his bloodied cheeks. Will let himself go, allowed himself to be momentarily free of all sanity, all control as he felt a horribly intoxicating power surge through him. It was Hannibal’s power, finally finding a suitable conduit to carry it.
In his mind, Hannibal smiled, all teeth, sharp and glorious. At that moment, Hannibal knew that he’d found his equal, after all these millennia and endless searching. He knew now that this man, Will Graham, would grow up to be a force to be reckoned with, a cold blooded killer. After all, once a mortal had felt the dark, all consuming power of an Old One, it was impossible to ever escape it. People like Will had done this ceremony since the dawn of humanity, but never had he willingly shared just a tiny fraction of his godly power with any of them.
Since Will’s birth, Hannibal had known that Will was different. When Will had taken his first breath eighteen years ago, Hannibal had seen vast potential in him. So he did what he had only done a few times before: bestow the gift and curse of pure empathy to him, merely to see how he would adjust to and use it. Really, he was painfully curious to see how Will would develop with it, how much it would affect his mind and personality. And so far, the results were perfect. But now that Will had performed the coming of age ceremony, he would change and grow into what he was meant to be from the start. And Hannibal didn’t want to take him away from the world so young. No, he would let him flourish, grow, and change as he experienced the world around him to the fullest. He wouldn’t take him for another few decades, but he knew that he wouldn’t let Will die naturally. He’d come to him in the night, steal his soul away and devour his body, as his soul had already belonged to Hannibal since Will’s birth, as had every previous member of his bloodline. Rarely did he take a worshiper before their time, but Will would be the exception. Will would ascend from this earthly plane and join Hannibal in the void above, and rule over all of creation, Hannibal’s creations, with him.
Will’s ascension would be glorious, and apocalyptic. Explosive and radiant, like the birth of a supernova.
Most importantly, it would be beautiful. So utterly beautiful.
But for the time being, Hannibal would have to be content with this first nudge towards Will’s becoming. He would simply have to watch, wait, and observe as Will Graham found his place in this world and carved his own path.
So he let his power course through Will’s veins, and spoke to him through the haze of madness.
“There’s still one more thing you must do, Will. You must take this pig’s heart, consume it, and speak my name, proclaiming your loyalty to me.”
“Yes, Hannibal. Yes,” Will rasped, breathless, as he rose from the ground with the knife back in his hand, focusing on the task at hand.
Will stepped closer to the corpse and brought the knife and his free hand to rest in the hollow of the man’s chest, taking the heart in his hand. It was still warm, now still and lifeless. Will longed for the day he would be able to rip it out of a man’s chest while it was still beating, and consume it raw right there. A spark of arousal shot through Will’s cunt at the thought, but for now, he would have to be content with this. Will held his breath, getting a steady hold on the organ, and began to hack away at the ventricles. It took all of Will’s remaining strength to cut through all of them, the cuts jagged and harsh, and nowhere near as clean as Will would’ve liked them to be. But finally, after a few minutes of relentless hacking, the heart came free in Will’s hand, retreating from the gaping cavern of the body and placing the knife back in its sheath.
There was that subtle thrum of power, ancient and vast that still coursed through his veins making itself known once again. Will’s hands trembled, cupping the heart and bringing it to his mouth.
“Go on, darling.” Hannibal cooed in Will’s skull, anticipating Will’s reaction of tasting human flesh for the very first time.
Will exhaled heavily, and brought it to his lips, finally sinking his teeth into it.
Will moaned at the taste of it, low and desperate as he bit into the heart, tearing a sizable chunk out of it and swallowing. Will felt positively ravenous as he ate it, ripping out chunks of it almost faster than he could swallow. He felt like a man starved, like a rabid dog as he consumed it, letting out small moans and groans at the flavor of it and the thick, still slightly warm blood sliding down his throat with every bite. Will felt a new hunger stir in him as he frantically tore into it, devouring it quickly, one he knew that would only get worse with time. It would become a craving eventually, and Will knew he’d do anything to sate it. Now that he’d tasted human flesh, Will couldn’t imagine ever going without it from now on. But he’d have to wait until he moved out of his father’s place, as his father had drawn the line at cannibalism while Will was growing up. It was normally customary among Hannibal’s worshipers to partake in the consumption of human flesh regularly, but Will’s father hadn’t cared for it and didn’t want to raise his only child on it. But he’d known that Will would eventually give in to the urge once he performed the bonding ritual, as they all had done. And Will couldn’t wait until the day he could properly partake in it.
After what seemed like forever, Will had gotten down to the last bite, and remembered the words he needed to say before he was truly finished.
“I, Will Graham, devote myself to you, Hannibal Lecter, my infernal god, until the day that I die. I freely give my immortal soul to you, and swear to serve you and only you until I take my last breath.” Will breathed, confident and sure as he took the last morsel into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed.
And just like that, Will had sealed his fate, had sold his soul to what most would consider to be the devil incarnate, securing his place in his god’s ravenous, bottomless maw.
And Will? Couldn't be happier.