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09-01-2015, 01:15 PM
but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams
Release.
Letting out the pent-up fury.
It was a powerful sensation, a blast of blinding light going off in his skull—something resonant, ringing, pounding and pulsing, throbbing. His heart spasmed with it, once, an uneven rush of blood through his veins; it was sickening (carnal), as always, the word yes threatening to tear itself out of his throat in an endless, psychedelic repeat.
He hated it, and he loved it. He loved it as much as he loved the beauty of blood running down the slick, clear edges of ice; he hated it as much as he hated the flaming reflection of the small sun in their cold depths. Hated it as much as he hated the heat lapping down on his back, sending waves of sweat running afresh.
Lace's scream was just another wave to shake him to his core, a half-gasp coming out of his lungs—there was heat in his belly, exhilaration in his bloodstream, a complete, utter loss of sense.
The only thing that existed was his bleeding, wounded prey—the sound of its pain music in the twisted pathways of his mind, the memory of it what drove him, what had him jerking forward half a step—
More, his thoughts whispered hungrily. Lace's blood was beautiful as it fell in a darkening pool in the churned slush of the ruined snow.
And then, he had no idea what happened.
Instinct, he supposed—something as deep as his primal need for Lace's destruction. Blue eyes widened a fraction, grew clearer, nerve impulses running pathways with little conscious thought attached to them—and as the sun descended Mauja moved, finding some kind of traction beneath the melting snow.
The orb crashed into the ground with a sense of finality, hot streaks of flame bursting out; Mauja's eyes had closed, head turned away, and he braced for—
—nothing.
A moment later his eyes opened. Soot did its best to cover up the carnage Lace's wound had left on the snow, the spikes shattered and melted upon the ground.
For once, he had not been burned.
And you know what?
He felt drunk with relief, gagging on his laughter as he staggered sideways. What in the actual fuck had made him evade a fucking sunburst?
Focus, he chided himself.
Relief and delight were dangerous things, pushing out the mad blood-hunger, replacing it with, well—he didn't know, but he felt like strutting about Lace and laughing at him. But, he reminded himself, the bastard had survived a war with a broken leg, so...
A few yards separated them, and Mauja wasn't sure how to close again. Magic? Lace was bound to be slower now, so he was more of an easy target, but magic was draining—so maybe just a plain charge?
Why wasn't laughing at someone a valid attack?
He cast a guilty glance at Nyx before opting for his second theory of just charging: slipped once in the early stages of it before finding his footing, and simply barreled towards Lace. Head low; horn first. Hitting any part of Lace would do, and if he could topple the bastard it would just be a fine bonus.
In the air, Diego swerved sharply as the dragon's anticipated breath came. The flame passed him harmlessly, but he had lost his position, and it was too dangerous to go back in. In silence he fell back, keeping a ways away from Irma.
No reason to play with fire and get them both burned.
[ @Lace || 2/4 || 584 words. ]
Letting out the pent-up fury.
It was a powerful sensation, a blast of blinding light going off in his skull—something resonant, ringing, pounding and pulsing, throbbing. His heart spasmed with it, once, an uneven rush of blood through his veins; it was sickening (
He hated it, and he loved it. He loved it as much as he loved the beauty of blood running down the slick, clear edges of ice; he hated it as much as he hated the flaming reflection of the small sun in their cold depths. Hated it as much as he hated the heat lapping down on his back, sending waves of sweat running afresh.
Lace's scream was just another wave to shake him to his core, a half-gasp coming out of his lungs—there was heat in his belly, exhilaration in his bloodstream, a complete, utter loss of sense.
The only thing that existed was his bleeding, wounded prey—the sound of its pain music in the twisted pathways of his mind, the memory of it what drove him, what had him jerking forward half a step—
More, his thoughts whispered hungrily. Lace's blood was beautiful as it fell in a darkening pool in the churned slush of the ruined snow.
And then, he had no idea what happened.
Instinct, he supposed—something as deep as his primal need for Lace's destruction. Blue eyes widened a fraction, grew clearer, nerve impulses running pathways with little conscious thought attached to them—and as the sun descended Mauja moved, finding some kind of traction beneath the melting snow.
The orb crashed into the ground with a sense of finality, hot streaks of flame bursting out; Mauja's eyes had closed, head turned away, and he braced for—
—nothing.
A moment later his eyes opened. Soot did its best to cover up the carnage Lace's wound had left on the snow, the spikes shattered and melted upon the ground.
For once, he had not been burned.
And you know what?
He felt drunk with relief, gagging on his laughter as he staggered sideways. What in the actual fuck had made him evade a fucking sunburst?
Focus, he chided himself.
Relief and delight were dangerous things, pushing out the mad blood-hunger, replacing it with, well—he didn't know, but he felt like strutting about Lace and laughing at him. But, he reminded himself, the bastard had survived a war with a broken leg, so...
A few yards separated them, and Mauja wasn't sure how to close again. Magic? Lace was bound to be slower now, so he was more of an easy target, but magic was draining—so maybe just a plain charge?
Why wasn't laughing at someone a valid attack?
He cast a guilty glance at Nyx before opting for his second theory of just charging: slipped once in the early stages of it before finding his footing, and simply barreled towards Lace. Head low; horn first. Hitting any part of Lace would do, and if he could topple the bastard it would just be a fine bonus.
In the air, Diego swerved sharply as the dragon's anticipated breath came. The flame passed him harmlessly, but he had lost his position, and it was too dangerous to go back in. In silence he fell back, keeping a ways away from Irma.
No reason to play with fire and get them both burned.
[ @Lace || 2/4 || 584 words. ]
man, I ain't changed, but I know I ain't the same
