the Rift


[PRIVATE] sin with a grin [comanche]

Tyradon Posts: 106
Hidden Account
Stallion :: Equine :: 17'2 :: 14 Buff: NOVICE
Cynder :: Common Green Dragon :: Fire Breath Snow
#1
@[Comanche]


The darkness is all-consuming, and without the guiding light of Cynder's flame-tail, the beast would likely be wandering down here for the rest of his days.

He had followed an innocent-looking tunnel, but now found himself in a massive cavern as black as the hairs on his pelt. The shadows are all-consuming, and even Tyradon - warmaster and fearless dark knight that he is - feels a frisson of unease. A man could get lost down here and wander for eternity without ever seeing another equine face, and he does not doubt that many have taken their last breath in these eerie shadows. He is profoundly grateful for Cynder's tail and for the queer ever-burning flame that adorns it; it casts a large circle of light around him, allowing him to see his path.

The levianthan wanders deeper and deeper, keen to discover if this seemingly endless dark room has a treasure hidden on the other side, anything to lure unknowing animals into the place like a venus flytrap. He finds nothing, only the far wall of the gigantic cave - looking up, the roof is so high it is lost in shadows. Cynder flies up to it, and her tail illuminates the arches that hold the entire structure up. An involuntary shudder spikes down the warrior's spine at the notion of the roof caving in on him, crushing the life out of him and ensuring his bones lay down here for evermore. "Come, Cynder," he says aloud - he wants to hear the sound of his own voice bouncing back at him, his own domineering vocals ringing off the distant cave walls. The beast turns and prepares to head out of the black abyss, his green war-dragon wheeling around in front of him to guide his way.

NO MATTER WHAT WE BREED, WE STILL ARE MADE OF GREED

[ we are made of greed ]
[ the regime ]

Comanche Posts: N/A
Unregistered
:: :: ::
#2
I wandered into a dark pit, trying to figure out where everyone had gone, seeing as I had, sort of disappeared at the worst time. I now heard rumors that there were beast outside, running around trying to infect others with their ugly decease. The thought hurt my head, knowing that if I didn’t find Abishia soon, she might be out there as well, getting infected by the nasty predators. It was gross to think that the sweet, young filly would get injured out there in the gruesome world.

I was caught up in my thoughts about the girl; she was like a daughter to me, made by love. She had caught it too, the love. She was full of compassion and her eyes were full of glamor, as if she came from a world of gleaming angels. Yes, I was too old for the filly, but if she was older or if I was younger, I’d defiantly call her my love. But those chances would never come; I couldn’t reverse my time and couldn’t fast forward on hers. It was a bummer, knowing I could never be with her. But at least I could call her my daughter, or just feel as if she is.

My limbs carried me into a darker space, traveling farther into the back of the pit. I couldn’t see a thing; I was walking blindly, hoping I wouldn’t run into anything. But I spoke too soon and I rammed into something. It was warm, but I couldn’t tell if it was a creature or just a wall that was warmed up by the fiery heart.

Tyradon Posts: 106
Hidden Account
Stallion :: Equine :: 17'2 :: 14 Buff: NOVICE
Cynder :: Common Green Dragon :: Fire Breath Snow
#3


Thud.

The beast feels the impact of flesh on flesh and a bellow of rage flees his jaws. Cynder shrieks, her tail illuminating the creature in front of them, and the leviathan's hatred boils as he sees what has so foolishly bumped into him. It is a unicorn - and, what's more, it is a unicorn with antlers. The demon that took Tyradon's magic and regressed his dragon to a hatchling had possessed such abominations, and with a stallion's bellow the titan launches the offensive. He has but one thing on his mind; to remove this hideous demon, leave his bones rotting beneath the earth for all eternity, for having the gall to walk into one of the superior species. His rage has been bubbling for days, unable to erupt out of him for the sake of diplomacy - now, all inhibitions are shed, and he allows his racism to devour him.

The creature will hang for this.

Tyradon throws his weight to his hindquarters, lifting his massive forehooves and thrashing them in the direction of the unicorn's head - he aims to kick the abomination's skull, wanting to feel bone cave beneath his wrath. The darkness of the cave means the warlord has no idea of the size of the arena they have to dance in, but he knows one thing; the vermin will not be leaving this place alive. A feral hiss flees his jaws and his mental hatred reaches Cynder, who circles with a war-dragon's bellow before swooping towards Comanche. She aims to land on his back, claws seeking to rasp into his flesh and jaws gaping to release a torrent of flame that illuminates the cave around them, wanting to scorch the flesh of his shoulders; peel skin from bone. The duo are in tandem, mentally linked and completely in synch with one another - they both have one single goal in mind, and that is to kill.

NO MATTER WHAT WE BREED, WE STILL ARE MADE OF GREED

[ we are made of greed ]
[ the regime ]

Comanche Posts: N/A
Unregistered
:: :: ::
#4
It wasn’t long at all until I actually found out that it was a real living creature. He was much bigger than I, and much darker. I couldn’t see him, but I could see the two white socks that hung low towards his hooves. When his companion, a dark green dragon, lit up the room, which was when I say his gruesome eyes. They were filled with murder, and the vapor was covered with it too. The burning fire disappeared and that was when I heard the pounding hooves smashing against my weak frame. Who would do such a thing?! I wondered with great pain, my body falling against the hard, cold floor. I tried to scramble up and talk some sense into the male, but as soon as I made a move, the dragon came twirling down with flames breathing from its mouth.

When the site caught me, I slid around on the ground, trying to gain as much traction as I could with the earth, but the odds were against me. As soon as a fell down, the hot flames hit my back like a bullet. A painful scream of agony slipped from my throat as the fire burned the flesh from my spine. I decided that it was all worthless. My legs were tangled like a pretzel, so it was no use in trying to get up. I rested my dome against the cave floors, looking up at the black steed in an expression I had not used since Adsila’s and Dasan’s deaths. It was a horrible one indeed, but I didn’t have any other one. It was full of misfit and pain, a one that made my soft heart tear apart.

Tyradon Posts: 106
Hidden Account
Stallion :: Equine :: 17'2 :: 14 Buff: NOVICE
Cynder :: Common Green Dragon :: Fire Breath Snow
#5


The thing falls, and Tyradon watches with eyes that glow with macabre intent.

He likes it when they go to their knees - he likes the superiority, the dominance, of having something at his mercy, bent below him like a slave to crave the sting of his whip in their back. The scream of agony that Cynder's flame causes is music to the hellhound's ears, and his jade war-dragon gives a shriek of delight as she turns away, the smell of burning flesh ripe in her nostrils. Her tail continues to illuminate the duelling duo, although it isn't much of a fight, not really. The unicorn is down, his legs tangled and useless - the way he looks up at Tyradon would make a weaker man's heart melt. A lesser man would grant clemency, allow the creature to live another day, but not the warlord. He showed mercy once, and it came back to bite him on the ass.

Never again.

But he isn't a masochist - he isn't a torturer. He does not inflict pain for the simple pleasure of doing so; he does it because it is his duty, by the blood of Nieque that flows through his veins. By the holy death he grants them, perhaps in the afterlife they can be saved - their horns and wings will be purged and they will be pure. He looks down at the other stallion, pity in his gaze, but says nothing - his weight simply shifts to his hindquarters, massive forehooves lifting and then slamming sharply downwards, aiming to shatter the man's skull. It is the quickest and most painless way that the beast knows to kill; the thing won't suffer. His spirit will leave his hideous body, and Nieque will grant him entry to the halls of the gods. Without his horns, he can be great - the afterlife will cleanse him, and perhaps he will be reincarnated into a superior body.

NO MATTER WHAT WE BREED, WE STILL ARE MADE OF GREED

[ we are made of greed ]
[ the regime ]

Comanche Posts: N/A
Unregistered
:: :: ::
#6
What had he done to deserve this?

He had only bumped into the stud with tiny effort, and not on purpose either. How could one carry such disease in a soul? Why did the dark male want to kill? What good would it do him? I was worthless, nothing important to be exact, and I never would be. Taking my life wouldn’t earn him a position as king of anything, only live with guiltiness as he found the blood trail flowing behind him. Was this something he wanted?

He tried to crash down on my soul, but with what little strength I had left, I moved my dome out from underneath his falling hooves. His clefts attacked my antlers that Adira had made me, making them tear from their grab, still hanging onto ripping flesh. Blood now covered my dome, looping around my harks and back to my forelock.

As I laid there, taking my last raspy breaths, I thought of the past. My dear friend Dasan, and my beautiful little girl, Adira. Hopefully, when I reached the high clouds, they would be there waiting for me, cleansed without a single scar. Adira wouldn’t be burnt from the flames that engulfed her home, and old Dasan wouldn’t be old no more. I would be home again, and I was ready too, for this stallion to take my life away and send me home.

But what about Abishia? Who would take care of her? She had no mother, no father. She would be alone now. I wish that I could take her there with me, and watch her leap through the clouds chasing butterflies. But I wanted her to find her destiny, to live her life on Earth to the fullest, and so that will happen.

I screamed as the burning flesh became hotter on my back, trying to break through my bones. The smell of rotting flesh was high in the air as I looked up at the stallion once more. It was decided. I would leave this world, and find my way home. My life flashed before me as I spoke in a soft, quiet tone. ”Thank you.” And then, my vision went blank.

Tyradon Posts: 106
Hidden Account
Stallion :: Equine :: 17'2 :: 14 Buff: NOVICE
Cynder :: Common Green Dragon :: Fire Breath Snow
#7


His hooves power down, a clattering death knell to end the unicorn's life - but, as they make contact, they knock free the antlers from the creature's head. From the blood that exploded free, Tyradon assumes he has simply kicked the horns free from the unicorn's skull, but on closer inspection he can see that isn't the case - the horns were not infused into bone. No, they had been put there, items placed to adorn a hornless head. An equine head. "Shit," he exclaims, horror rising in him as the stallion says his last words and collapses into death. What the hell has he done?

He has slain one of his own - an equine. Someone superior.

He couldn't have known that the man's antlers weren't truly part of him, that they had been given to him for whatever strange fetish he had about wearing horns. It didn't matter, now - he was dead, and the beast had made a terrible mistake. None of the glee that usually came to him after a kill flooded through him - he felt only shame, disgust that he had ended a perfectly adequate life. Of course, the stallion must have been addled in the head to want to wear antlers, yet that is besides the point. He was still good stock, equine stock, but now he lay prone at Tyradon's hooves. What a waste. Cynder chirps, feeling her bonded's disappointment and soaring down to the dead male to gently shut his staring eyes, before returning to the beast's shoulders. "May Nieque guide your spirit home," murmurs the black colossus, a prayer he saves soley for those of pure blood who die - it is an honour, a gift.

With that, and with his shame still burning in his cheeks, the beast exits, leaving the body behind him to rot forever in this dank pit of sin.

NO MATTER WHAT WE BREED, WE STILL ARE MADE OF GREED

[ we are made of greed ]
[ the regime ]


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