EREBOS

Something felt horribly, horribly wrong.

Her scream echoed through the depths of his skull, grating, harsh, and shrill, wreaking havoc over his mind. He’d never heard such a jarring sound, and it haunted his movements, his sentiments, until his thoughts nearly froze over in conflict.

Had all the others shrieked as he cut into them? Had the monsters bled? Had Ashamin screeched in the storm, and he’d never been able to hear him? Or had they all merely accepted their roles in life, the schemes and ruses of battle, tucked the pain and agony into their chests and moved on?

This should’ve been easy, he thought. He didn’t know her. She should’ve been one more stepping stone on the path to greatness. After all, she was virtually nothing to him, another creature passing through warrens and mazes. But the good, gallant portion of his heart ached to hear her in agony because of his actions.

But another part of him, the cold, nefarious, demonic shards (where Orsino lurked, laughing and snickering), seemed almost pleased, content, and satisfied at her misery. It meant he’d been successful. It meant he was going somewhere. It meant he was getting better, stronger, faster, capable of marring, condemning, and destroying. Wasn’t this what everything was for? Weren’t these his goals – to triumph, to conquer, to devastate? Didn’t he have to condemn others before he could go for the Colossus?

I don’t think I can do this, he ushered to Orsino, who scoffed and snorted, who hissed and blanched, disappointed in the boy who seemed to never want to press hard enough into the skin of his enemy.

This what you want! The little beast growled through their bond, shaking his head amongst the bracken, watching as Erebos seemed to do nothing but come to one more crisis.

The situation was an endless cycle. It was like Rexanna, struggling against the Rotunda wall. It was like Ki’irha, bleeding and broken, curled and coiled, barely above the ground, asking for him to stop. It was like Cathun, only accepting his terms because he’d wanted a friend.

It wasn’t fair for Alysanne to become another fractured token for his sake. The apologies and regrets stuck to his throat like bile, folding over his tongue and mouth, cursing the foundation of his ambitions. His eyes shifted to the long laceration he’d embedded into her flesh, to the blood still dripping from his horn.

The boy likely would’ve stopped right then and there – bowed his head against her and received what he’d deserved – but Orsino’s piercing shout (Owl!) folded over his membrane. His gaze lifted further, to the sky, to the fronds of greenery, to the diving feathers of the bird, and he tried to twist his head from side to side, back away (too slow, he knew, due to the first lingering cut down his left shoulder), and move from the long talons of the flying predator.

But they still sunk into his head, pulling and snatching at tufts of hair along his forelock and poll, clipping over his right ear with small, brazen cuts that stung and ached.

The sensation of protecting himself, of defending against the opposing companion, awakened the barbs and thorns in his soul all over again; like naught mattered except blood and disaster, ruin and abominations. It was exhausting to be pulled in so many directions.

Erebos used the opportunity he had, attempting to swing his horn, his sword, his cutlass, towards the companion, hoping he hadn’t managed to fly off or rise too far, wondering if he could force the bird out of their game.

Orsino, savage, smoldering, seething little Orsino, snatched his own chance, wandering through the thickets and harpooning for the mare. He used the bushes, the ferns, the labyrinth contortions with the designs that she might not be able to see or detect his presence (crawling and slithering, almost a snake instead of a fox). The tiny infidel, with his twisted heart and nefarious qualities, shuffled his way towards her hind, and as he appeared, launching from the grass, he attempted to bite at her already wounded left thigh.

Pain for pain the kitsune hissed, and Erebos felt the guilt gnaw at him all over again.

[2/3. 706 words.
* As Hemlock comes for Erebos’ face, he attempts to move his head from side to side and back away, but due to his wounds, he’s not fast enough. Hemlock grabs tufts of hair from Erebos’ poll and forelock, and also delivers a series of small cuts to his right ear.
* As Hemlock attacks, Erebos tries to swing his horn towards the owl.
* While Erebos is attacking Hemlock, Orsino tries to hide in the bushes and crawl behind Alysanne. He attempts to launch from the grass and bite at her already wounded left thigh.]