the Rift


[PRIVATE] ocean eyes.

Enna Posts: 172
Aurora Basin Time Mender atk: 6 | def: 9.5 | dam: 4
Mare :: Unicorn :: 14.1 :: 5 ( TALLSUN ) HP: 61 | Buff: NOVICE
Mehr :: Arctic Wolf :: None kels
#1
like punching in a dream, breathing life into a nightmare



It is different than it was before.

As you slip into the earth after the ghost of a man, you smile, recalling the fear that you had felt for him (as much a stranger to you then as he is now) as you watched him disappear, so certain that he would never find his way back. The fear as you blindy followed him, the taste of excitement that ebbed away the worst of it, offering memories of when you were too naïve, too new, to feel anything but untouchable. Your steps are surer now as you find your way, the path steep, narrow, pebbles dislodging before you as your weight shifts carefully atop them. The air that finds you is colder than you remember, giving pause to your movements as you breathe in the damp emptiness of the earth. Your heart twists in its loneliness, anger with yourself, your stupidity, bubbling beneath the misplaced disappointment.

Where you had been so sure, so certain, seeking out all of the places that had meant something to you and finding him gone would only put to rest the ache in your heart, chase the ghosts (his face, the smell of home, his touch and the way it always made you feel so whole) from your head. But now? You breathe slowly as you push yourself forwards, embraced suddenly by the openness of the cavern, the coolness of the earth, the warm glow of the lava.

But not him, and there is no sense of rest within your tangled heartstrings, only more hurt.

You only can stare at the empty room, watch as the orange light dances across the rough stone faces, idly admire the simplistic, raw beauty as you spill into the room, quiet and withdrawn. It is not the same as it had been before—not as wild, as tangibly intoxicating as it had been with him next to you, a stranger pressed so dangerously close to you, enough to touch, to feel his steady heartbeat beneath the sandstone and sinew, quiet near the frantic beating of your own. Lips twitch downwards as your brows furrow, eyes narrowing as you pull away from where he stood, to the falls, trying your best to swallow the lump that has found your throat, fight against the grief that has swelled, swallowed your heart all over again.


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@Calstron
you can have him just barge in however you see fit if you'd like~
ps she's just in the first room of the heart caves where the lava wall is c:


please tag enna in every post
violence permitted barring permanent injury / death

Calstron Posts: 43
World's Edge Protector
Stallion :: Pegasus :: 16.2hh :: 8
Goatfairy
#2
 
 
 
 

IT was a curious thing, this place. The land was so large and yet so varied in land. He'd traveled all the way to those bloody falls near the Threshold and seen Rexanna, to the peninsula of the Secret Grove, and now to the far South. The blood knight was had stumbled into this odd bunch of caves while seeking a spot to lay down for a nap. He hadn't gone wandering into them all, they were far too confusing, but he'd seen the first two. Now he was laying down in the corner of the cave furthest from the steaming lava. He was just dozing off when a tasty little treat fell into his lap....well...sortof. The pleasure he'd had with the other, insane creature had been somewhat less than what he'd preferred. This looked like the terrified basic bitch steak he wanted. The tearful lover come to sulk in a cave perhaps? Maybe she'd lost her family and come wandering here to ride out her grief in private. What a shame, no one should be so...alone.


"Hello. " His deep voice is charming but there's a tangible other meaning to his playful tones this time. Hooves scramble to heft him up before he creeps out from his corner. " Are you quite all right, my dear? Or have you found yourself lost and broken?" Presumptuous and cocky, he wasn't leering just yet but he was certainly holding back his drool. He couldn't wait to drizzle lava on her hide and tell her it was atonement. Maybe he could carve some tiger stripes on her hide. Nothing to scar this time, of course, for he'd need to make sure no one believed her once she did get the courage to talk. "IF he did these horrible things to you then where are the scars?" They'd ask and she'd be at a loss for anything physical...but he'd always be there in her mind. He'd always linger, touch her again whenever she saw a lava rock, caress her whenever she felt the unnatural heat of a fire, and she'd never be free. But he'd also never die so long as she was alive.


 

@Enna

  Coding by Tamme, Customization by Goatfairy, Stock by Vic1230@flickr

Enna Posts: 172
Aurora Basin Time Mender atk: 6 | def: 9.5 | dam: 4
Mare :: Unicorn :: 14.1 :: 5 ( TALLSUN ) HP: 61 | Buff: NOVICE
Mehr :: Arctic Wolf :: None kels
#3
like punching in a dream, breathing life into a nightmare



Are you quite all right, my dear? Or have you found yourself lost and broken?’ You only glance in his direction as he makes himself known, drinking in the deep russet of his skin, the way that his muscles lay just beneath it, the unknown depth of emptiness within his stare (too familiar, too reminiscent of men, of moments, you would sooner forget if it was ever up to you). A faint shiver trembles along your spine and you turn your head away, back to the cascade of orange and red.

Perhaps if you were weaker, you would crumble before him, crumble in the way that you have crumbled so many times before; pouring out your heart, your unrequited love, those memories that leak into your dreams, keep you up all night until you forget what its like to dream at all; all of the things that sit so very heavy on your chest, all of the things that come so simply down to a singular man that you held too, too terribly near.

“Maybe neither,”

(Have you ever wanted to be everything someone needs, but no matter how much you gave yourself to them it was never enough?)

The breath of a laugh, defiant in the face of the unrest ruling your heart, rebellious against the discomfort stirring in your gut, born from the man that stands too close, his black stare. If you were weaker, unknowing, unexposed, of men and the games that they play, you would give in, seek comfort in the flicker of interest, of concern, that he has shown you. But you aren’t oblivious, are not unaware, and so you simply stand, unwilling to allow him to see you squirm, struggle, tremble. Unwilling to allow him so much of a glimpse of yourself, a mistake you have repeated too, too many times before.

“What does my well-being matter to you anyways?”


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@Calstron
ew but i wanted this up .__.
hopefully they'll get better ??


please tag enna in every post
violence permitted barring permanent injury / death

Calstron Posts: 43
World's Edge Protector
Stallion :: Pegasus :: 16.2hh :: 8
Goatfairy
#4
 
 
 
 

SHE startles in the usual way. Neither too loud nor too calm. She stands resolute, as they all had before her. That feminine little body acting as if it could hold a candle to his superior strength and body, as they always do. The cocky back talk to lighten the mood, testing his purpose, the firm and sassy remark as if to say "You can't have me". It was almost getting boring, the regularity with which these things were consistent. Don't make me yawn, girl, thinks the blood knight to himself.

They always continued the facade, so self assured in their strength, that their opinion mattered  to someone hunting them. HA! As if saying "No" meant anything. The truth was that they were only as strong as the protection of other males allowed them to be, not they themselves. But he let her feel strong a little longer. The demon let her feel as if she could even entertain doing anything to hold him off before he consumed that self-confidence like a Gatorade and left her burning beneath the lava. Calstron lived for these moments. They were the times when he had all the cards, all the power, and could push the mares any way he wanted. Shall we extend the small talk, cut to the shock, just walk away(lolol, jkjk, thats not happening), or something else? Seduction maybe? The possibilities were endless and sensational, all of them. But they were always the same and he would never die so long as all his playthings remembered him.

He raises his brows silently at her first quip. On her second exclamation he cocks a smirk. Oh, sweet little thing, how lost you are. Every one of them was always broken in some way; a chip here or a crack there. Those delicate females that were wayward enough to adventure so far out on their own and stupid enough to believe they were strong enough to survive. Always filled with some meaningless variation of depression, seeking absolution, and finding nothing but emptiness to cleanse them of their perceived self-importance. Yet, they were rarely ever in possession of enough depth to learn the true lesson. They just took a selfie and drove on home. No, my dear, you don't matter. Your deepest fears are always true and you're always the villain to someone in some way. That was why they stayed put for him, of course, that self-loathing instinct to seek out someone to hurt them the most. They wanted what he did. They wanted to know they were the victim in at least one thread of their lives. They always did. He simply delivered to them what they asked.

"What a silly thing to assume. What if it doesn't matter to me?" His voice rolls off his tongue chocolate dark as he slithers to her, closer still, in the dim light of the cave, " Your well being, that is.." The fallen king's breath leaves him in a hot pant. If she's remained still, it hits her pretty little neck, leaving that sticky condensation all breath does. He wants her to feel that pleasurably painful spike of adrenaline. That fear, that rush, that moment when everything becomes somehow more than it had been before. It was what they both got out of the experience, after all. Where was the fun if she didn't feel a little bit of it? Perhaps she was still feeling the attraction of his crimson gaze, perhaps she'd take this as twisted flirting, perhaps she'd scream and try to run. Oh, he shivered with the perfection of the moment. It always was, it always was. There were no surprises here.

OOC: Noo! It was great and I loved it <333 I love the style you write in. xD

 

@Enna

  Coding by Tamme, Customization by Goatfairy, Stock by Vic1230@flickr

Enna Posts: 172
Aurora Basin Time Mender atk: 6 | def: 9.5 | dam: 4
Mare :: Unicorn :: 14.1 :: 5 ( TALLSUN ) HP: 61 | Buff: NOVICE
Mehr :: Arctic Wolf :: None kels
#5
like punching in a dream, breathing life into a nightmare



“It shouldn’t.” Your eyes narrow and roll as the words are nearly spat, your patience for the clearly daft man’s presence growing thinner still by the moment. His movements do not concern you at first, as he snakes his way through the cavern, the relative darkness, as you watch him only from the corner of your eye. “Either way, you’re the one that asked.” It is a simple statement, meant to provoke nothing but a dismissal, nothing but a clue and perhaps some wounded pride, a lesson to not be so gung-ho about sticking his nose in someone else's business. It had not been your intention to share this room with anyone except the ghost of the man that you had once meant something to (when he still means too much to you), despite knowing that it is not only yours to keep, and he has done nothing but intrude.

Perhaps, you muse bitterly, belatedly, being quiet and ignoring him would have sent a clearer message.

Within moments, however, he does something you do not expect. The little weasel pulls entirely too close for comfort, mumbling some words lost to you within the wave of panic that grips you then, within the sudden, sickening heat against your skin. At first you merely stand, your breaths coming harder, faster, your heart beat thrumming painfully against its cage of bone. At first, you cannot feel anything but the dizzying plummet within your stomach, the fingers of a chilling fear as it radiates through your veins, of remembering what it is like to feel utterly helpless.  

Helpless, as you have been since Nivos died.

Since he held you beneath him, made himself feel like the man he could never so much as hope to be.

Since a man that you used to know mutilated your child as you stood by, too weak to do anything.

Before long, the erratic heartbeat pounding in your ears becomes too loud, his heat too much, and you abruptly pull from him, away from the bittersweet memories of the last time someone had been so close, all of the nothings he had promised you, the boldness, the longing, that had taken hold of you then, the way that it has been tangled within your heartstrings ever since. Away, spinning on delicate heels to face him, confront him, despite the consuming fear within your chest, the satin skin of your neck crawling even still, after he is gone. “Just what in the actual fuck do you think you’re doing?”




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@Calstron


please tag enna in every post
violence permitted barring permanent injury / death

Calstron Posts: 43
World's Edge Protector
Stallion :: Pegasus :: 16.2hh :: 8
Goatfairy
#6
--Warning! This Post Contains Violence/Cursing/Assault/Sexual Assault (PG-13/Non PG)--
 
 
 
 

SHE lets his breath hover there for a moment, pleasurably submissive, before choosing her desperate response. It was always interesting to see how they reacted when panicked. His own method of defense had been hers; the direct challenge. Oh, darling. The "make them face me" shit only served to heighten their hard-on and intensify your feelings of nausea. Oh, you'd shown you'd put out the best type of fight. You'd let them know they'd get the best type of finish when the light leaves your eyes and you finally admit defeat. It wasn't as if you were ever going to win when you were prey.

Oh, not for the first time, he bemoans his inability to see inside her brain. He wants to see the synapses firing full tilt. He wants to see the chemicals moving, activating, the fear, the logic. The high would be complete. Instead, he again finds himself amused at her stupidity, her belief, that she's going to make it out of this just fine. Silly girl.

Really though, he held no pity. This fine filly had brought it all on herself. She wouldn't have come to somewhere secluded like this if she'd not wanted this...to feel some pain. The stage had been set with her irresponsibility. She clearly hadn't really wanted to be alone. Her pheromones, the scent of her cold swear, her very everything- it was all so perfect. He couldn't wait to taste her blood as it rolled down his chin in glorious streams. The world wants to tilt as his mouth begins to drool.

The prey turns, trying to face him, and he shies back a bit. His body may be visible but his head, held high, is still shaded a bit. She's says words she must  think sound strong but its just amusing, titillating even, that he can't hold it in. A sadistic laugh thunders from his chest. "Oh, my dear. I think I'm going to do whatever the fuck I want." 

Initially, the blood knight just wanted to bite her a bit. He'd intended scare her up a bit, get a rise off it, and move on. But she was making it so easy to do more. Calstron rather wants to find out just how much more. He kicks a rock to his left, loudly, so that it might tumble over there and allow him to approach her slightly to the right. He dodges forward, wings outstretched as much as he could get them in the cave, and aims to plant a long lick from her neck down to her spine...if she lets him. "You are mine." Comes his demonic voice. If she lets him, he will follow her movements biting gouges in her hide until he reaches her ass. He wants to try to take it all, to have her feel all of him. His world is red now, its tilted and funny and shiny. It has this weird quality where it just doesn't feel quite real. He wants to bite harder. He must do what he wants or it won't feel real again. "And you shall not fight." The order is manic, barked out in a harsh, dark voice. He's consumed by his passion now. He can't help it. He's lost, weak, and carrying out actions in mimicry...

But he needs to know his power. He needs to feel it. He needs to feel power over something.




OOC: Actions approved by Kels, Kels has permission to powerplay Cal in future posts in the thread. Cal backs up when she turns to face him, but after speaking, he walks forward to try to slobber/bite at her body. He moves behind to attempt the force mount. Can skip over/ "Fade to black" that part or do the trip and just beat to shit part.


 

@Enna

  Coding by Tamme, Customization by Goatfairy, Stock by Vic1230@flickr
 
WARNING:
Calstron is a dark character that often utilizes curse words and his posts may contain triggering content.  PG-13, not PG

Enna Posts: 172
Aurora Basin Time Mender atk: 6 | def: 9.5 | dam: 4
Mare :: Unicorn :: 14.1 :: 5 ( TALLSUN ) HP: 61 | Buff: NOVICE
Mehr :: Arctic Wolf :: None kels
#7
like punching in a dream, breathing life into a nightmare


He laughs.

That pinprick of annoyance only grows, ebbing away at the fear that had clung at your heart as the gravely sound rings within your ears, the small bit of pride you possess wounded by his apparent mockery. In a huff, you begin to turn from him, away from the wall of fire and the memories of an innocent girl momentarily (stupidly) enamored with a beautiful man, from him in disinterest of continuing this strange meeting any further. But he speaks, and for a fraction of a moment, your blood runs cool.

Oh, my dear, I think I’m going to do whatever the fuck I want.

You are either slow or reluctant to understand the full meaning of it, to recognize the extent of the darkness nestled within those words, perhaps expecting a lack of any actual action, or perhaps not understanding why he should want anything to do with you. As he lunges forwards, however, the why of anything does not matter. You flinch from him, side-stepping away as he reaches for you, his wings (had you even noticed them before?) blocking you from your narrow means of escape. The wetness of his tongue comes as a surprise to you, a squeal leaving you as your body swivels away from the mass of his.

“Get away from me—“

But he does not stop.
(And why should he? You, your threats, you realize, are nothing.)

His teeth find the russet of your skin next, pinching at the sensitive flesh as he makes his way down the length of your body (had you ever felt so insignificantly small?). At first, you do not fight, afraid to provoke him further, afraid of the consequences of his anger. The desire to run (for the first time since he had been born, rooted your heart to something more than whims, all of your childish sentiments, since that day on the lake that reflected nothing but sky when he had held you and for once you believed things would be alright, and it is here where your thoughts remain) resonates within your chest, in your bones, your long legs, but you know, even if you tried, you have nowhere to go.

His teeth, your ripped flesh, are nothing compared to the sudden pressure that follows as he throws himself on top of you, his weight alone nearly enough to send you crashing to the ground. ‘And you shall not fight.“No,” your legs, your entire body, tremble, a strained moan emitting from you as all of the feigned bravery that you have clutched to, fooled yourself in to believing would save you, crumbles into dust, into nothing. It feels like an eternity in the small space of the seconds that pass of him shifting above you, your body exhausted in all of your futile attempts to try and pull from beneath him, away from him, the rub of his skin like sandpaper against yours—“nnno, no,” a rushed breath, quiet plea as your eyes slam shut, your heart a hummingbird, his ragged breathing the only thing you can hear as it pools along your shoulders, his teeth still clasped so tightly to you.

“NO!” It is a mangled screech as your muscles bunch, legs extending as you kick out as far as your position will allow, desperate to hit him, knock him off balance, anything to get him away. There is a quick pressure against your right foot as it makes contact with something, (a wall? his leg? let it be the manhood he so clearly does not need) and in your sense of victory, you kick out again, unwilling to simply succumb to him, his black desires. Your sense of accomplishment is snatched away all too quickly when your stomach lurches as your feet hit the ground again, a gasp leaving you as the earth beneath you is pulled away and your world begins to spin.

There is a fresh wave of panic, of searing heat along your shoulder blades as you tear away from him, from his suffocating grasp, your head thrashing frantically as you fall. A jarring (sweet) pain emanates from your forehead, down your neck, and for a fleeting moment you realize that you must have hit him in all of your aimless flailing.  

But this, too, is short-lived; eclipsed as your body crashes to the floor, as the air is knocked from your lungs and something within your leg snaps from its place. A scream meets the rush of heat, the tingling numb that shoots along the limb. For moments you simply lay, knowing that something has broken, knowing that you couldn’t stand even if you tried, afraid of the pain that would follow should you be stupid enough to. None of this is anything as you look up to the man that towers above you with too-wide eyes and the situation fully begins to sink in, your breaths growing shallow and fast. If you had not been at his mercy before, there is no doubt within you now.




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@Calstron
in case anythings confusing: she tries to put distance between the two of them but he follows. she mostly just stands there until he tries to force-mount then kicks at him (up to you where she hits or if she does hit the wall) and falls like a dweeb. while falling, attempts to throw her head back and hit him. the way i pictured it, if he tried to hold her up it would hit around his left cheek/upper neck, if he let her fall, then it would hit around his chest/leg muscles on his right. when she falls on her right, something breaks (she isnt sure what and neither am i but lol) and so she just lays there, too afraid to do anything else.


please tag enna in every post
violence permitted barring permanent injury / death

Calstron Posts: 43
World's Edge Protector
Stallion :: Pegasus :: 16.2hh :: 8
Goatfairy
#8
--Warning! This Post Contains Violence/Cursing/Assault/Sexual Assault (PG-13/Non PG)--
 
 
 
 

THE girl obeys for a time. She allows him to try. He's actually fairly surprised because there would have, usually, been more of an explosion by now. Oh, wait. There it is. The pleas of cessation do nothing but to heighten his experience though. He laughs openly at her frail words. "No means no only when I say it does. Now shut the fuck up." The greatness rushed through his being, delusional, powerful, he was magnificent. He felt stronger.  He was not the weak stallion he'd just been with Rexanna. He was not being forced into change here. He would never be!!! He was a conqueror! He was GOD!

But she falls out from under him, escaping. He's robbed. He gets no satisfaction and gifts her nothing. Instead, he receives a deep and nasty gash on his inner right thigh that goes entirely too close to his fruited loins than he was comfortable. His leg screams with pain at the sensitive area being hit. This fucking bitch had ACTUALLY fought back. She actually thought that if she fell down, helpless, that he'd just walk away? What an idiot. What a dull piece of trash. But his thoughts are silenced at her head comes back to ram his own on her way down. "You think you can fuck with me? He screams, engraged, until her antlers cut him short in a gurgle of pain. Her antlers have begun to fillet his cheeks and both sides of his neck. As she falls so does his flesh. Somehow, thankfully, they don't hit his windpipe. But my god there's so much loose flesh. There's so much blood everywhere. How had his simple hunt gone so wrong. You're soft now. Come his thoughts, unbidden, on the tides of blood ebbing from him. You're weak. Her hooves hit his legs with the force of a panicked animal. You should have known better than to think you could still do this. He falls, losing his balance on the slippery blood, and lands square on her barrel. His face cringes as he feels her ribs crack. Fucking shit, he hadn't wanted to kill her. This was bad, this was bad. Fuck. Fuck. He slithers off to the side and stares at her flailing body. He's more awake than he was in his fit of insanity but the shock, rage, and denial are bubbling up inside of him and he just...he just. He can't. He can't. He couldn't have. No, she...she.."You bitch, you trash. Look at what you made me do!!! I can't have.....Fuck............You made me do this! He scrambles over to lean on top of her again and he just starts kicking and biting. "You!He gnaws at any flesh he can get a hold of. "You!He rips at it he aims for those cracked or broken ribs and hits and hits and hits until he feels at least one puncture her lungs. "You! And then the hollow wheeze breaks him. Its a horrible sound. Its one of his least favorite ways to kill another. Its always slow and long and painful. He prefers visibly bleeding out without that fucking loud, hollow sound. He scrambles away and up. He was sane once more. He was not the perpetrator. He couldn't be. He, Rae...he had Rae. He would never try to mount someone unless he was forced to. That was it. She'd forced him. She'd had some sort of magic or hormone. She'd wanted this. She'd had to have. He was good. He would never. He stumbles backward, pain splitting his vision, but he makes full eye contact with her. He knows she'll die soon without some sort of superb healer and there sure as fuck wasn't one around now. "I...I you wanted this! You wanted it! With that he limps out as fast as he can. He leaves her in a pool of their mixed blood, the wheeze of her punctured lung following him as he went. What the fuck had he done?



OOC: Her kick hits his inner thigh, her antlers light slice the crap outta his check and neck, and her hooves scrape and beat the fudgenuggets outta his legs. He does, however, fall on her barrel in a way to crack but not break her ribs, maybe partially land on her or have it be delayed? Not sure. Then he half crawls over to her and starts just biting and pawing and stuff (like you see in that wild stallion video in Mongolia or something where they get each other on the ground and just go ham) He breaks one or a few ribs and punctures the lung, as requested. Assuming you're ok with this I went in the vein of "beat to shit" and had him just like nom everywhere he could reach on her. xD Sorry for the trash post but its up and done! Lol.


 

@Enna

  Coding by Tamme, Customization by Goatfairy, Stock by Vic1230@flickr
 
WARNING:
Calstron is a dark character that often utilizes curse words and his posts may contain triggering content.  PG-13, not PG

Enna Posts: 172
Aurora Basin Time Mender atk: 6 | def: 9.5 | dam: 4
Mare :: Unicorn :: 14.1 :: 5 ( TALLSUN ) HP: 61 | Buff: NOVICE
Mehr :: Arctic Wolf :: None kels
#9
like punching in a dream, breathing life into a nightmare


Pieces of his skin simply hang.

You can only stare at the ribbons of dark red as the acidic taste of vomit lingers in the back of your throat, thick and uninvited, as disgust, disappointment (and you will never admit it, not even to yourself, the rush of elationhidden beneath it all) swell within your stomach. It isn’t the sight of him that bothers you (a marked improvement from the unscathed shell of a man), nor the metallic stench that drenches every breath, and it is not the warmth of his blood as it drips along your face, your neck, your legs, the disgusting sound that you swear you can hear as it hits the stone, mixing with the growing pool of your own.

You had seen it before—seen the destruction left in the wake of gods (the sandstone man’s face comes to you then, marred by sores, his skin hot to the touch, in agony when you had  found him beneath the cover of the darkness nestled within that forest, the way his burnt flesh had smelled, rotten against the salt of the sea despite all of your efforts to make his pain disappear—all for the greed of the gods),  the savagery of wild beasts (you remember a singular night, what it was—still is—to have watched him, who always was so strong, fall beneath his pain, afraid that he was gone, that you had already lost him—and you breathe sharply against the memory, against the pounding of your head), the carnage wrought by the anger, the vengeance, of men.  

It is that you, you are the one to bring him this pain, and the lack of regret gripping hungrily at your heart.

You do not have the time to even question it, his sudden movements shaking you from your destructive thoughts. You can only try desperately to move from him, your tired and broken body wiggling uselessly against the ground instead of actually getting anywhere. A pained shriek, stifled only by a whimpering cry, leaves you as his weight crashes into your side, the shock of the grinding crunch of your bones lost to you within the burst of sheer anguish. You fight to breathe against it, your breaths more like airless gasps as you reach inside of yourself for your magic, your mind vaguely aware of the man’s presence as it begins to spark to life.

No sooner than the hum of its work starts to soothe your ache does he spew more meaningless bullshit, moving again within the dark. The sudden pressure of his body against yours is nearly too much, though it is only as he begins to hurt you again that you cry out. You cannot help the tears that find you, the trembling, rapid breaths, the burning within your lungs; cannot help but flail tiredly against him until you cannot any longer. You become still as he continues, simply accepting his anger, his hatred, though you do not understand it, his voice like shattered glass within your head as he speaks.

Until something within you gives.

Your complacency turns to terror as you feel your rib cage shift and rattle, as your body suddenly makes a terribly hollow sound as you breathe in, the air you’re sucking in feeling like it has nowhere to go.

He moves away from you again, away, away as you struggle to remain upright, struggle to comprehend what has happened.

“Please,” you whimper as you feel him look at you, unable to make out his face in the hazy blur that has become your world. You wonder if he even heard you as he turns, doubt that he even cares as the scramble of his feet against the floor, the breaths he takes so freely, is the last you hear of him.

“Don’t … go, don’t—”

But he is already gone, silence finding all of the places that he had touched, the angry gasps of his breathing; a strange, terrifying emptiness filling in the places he stood. It is only your wheezes that echo off of the walls now, shallow and panicked as your body gulps down air only to feel more deprived than the second before.

"I have... I have a son," it is a stuttered plea into the darkness, into the gray. A quiet sob racks your body, the tightness in your throat making your wheezy, pathetic breaths come harder, faster. You only cling tightly to the thoughts that come unbidden—his laugh, sweet like the sound of water over stone, his smile, his smell like pinedust and earth—all of the little things that you have held so close to you; all of the things that you had promised to show him, the things you have yet to teach him, worry about what he will become.

Cling to the boy that invades your thoughts then, to the heart carved of gold hiding beneath his stupid, boyish ways (of which you have become entirely too fond), the memories of mischief that only the two of you will ever know, those pieces of you, your heart, that were (are, always will be) solely his.

Your heart aches terribly as your mind wanders to the sandstone man, touches on the love that you had buried deep beneath the waves of a beach that should never have meant anything.

You only cling, even as it becomes harder, harder to remember them, their faces, to feel the love you harbor for each of them, to feel anything. Even the pain of your body feels somehow less, your breaths quieter even though it is just as difficult to breathe, the panic that had lived in you moments before nothing to you now as you finally lay your head against stone.

Is this what it feels like to die?

Is it just as simple as letting go?


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@Erebos TADAH FINALLY THERE YOU GO
@Calstron i think you wanted to be tagged still? :D


please tag enna in every post
violence permitted barring permanent injury / death

Erebos Posts: 474
Aurora Basin General atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1hh :: Four HP: 75.5 | Buff: DANCE
Orsino :: Plain Kitsune :: Dark Illusions & Enyo :: Common Griffon :: Draining Clutch Heather
#10
They were pieces and portions of demons, solidified and tempered by the taste of bitterness, by the dusky, raw relish of hatred; an infernal depth and glance into the outcries of daggers and swords. While vengeance and disaster kept them occupied, boredom fed them too, fueled the relentless stretch of their muscles, of their glory, of their miscreant, fiendish ways, and when the boy’s gallant opus careened across the horizon, so did the annals of abhorrence and fury, locked in a vicious battle for pride and power. He gave both due diligence, corresponded to his heart and mind, then his desire and yearning for absolute corruption, becoming a twisted, malicious thing in the dark and a poetic warrior in the afternoon; when the morning eclipsed his hide he wondered who he’d become and where he’d land. The other part of his soul, the vicious, little, cunning shard of the devil, had become an acerbic, greedy foundation of wiles and damnation, incensing, kindling, the decadence wrinkling the scion’s hide. Eventually it would be difficult to tell them apart, in mind, in essence; too depraved, too menacing, too embittered by the things they couldn’t have and couldn’t hold.
 
So neither thought anything of traversing along each world after dark. They embraced the twilight folds and the hums of monsters, crossing over paths of crypts and treasures, poking their noses into Stygian secrets, serpentining amidst caverns and catacombs. He might have stared into the vast, open crevasse where he and Rikyn had sparred, then argued, but steered clear of it, shuffling down more mysterious corridors, exploring the bestial halls and parlors of the past; born later, experiencing the might and glory of history from yesteryear’s silent mouth. If anything lurked here, he almost craved to encounter it – to shove his sword into its chest, to unleash a battle cry, to wreak havoc when he hadn’t consumed it in so long, to feel rage simmer down into the growling pits of his barrel or the sinking, clawing cracks of his heart.
 
It was Orsino who found something first.
 
The gold eyes glinted through the abyss, glowing against the amber waves of the boiling lava pit nearby, catching a familiar scent – he lifted his nose to the sultry air, first whittling it down to the stench of blood, the sharp, blunt wave of ichor – and then to a creature. He said nothing at the singular notion, following the waves and motions of the fallen pools before mentioning it to Erebos – he recalled the utter panic the boy had gone through when she’d given birth to her child – and some rudimentary factor, rooted down into his bond, told him not to give the lad any unease. The fox’s brows furrowed, then grew closer to the collapsed form lying between shadow and light, unmistakable despite the ripped seams, despite the damage and destruction laden upon her. He stood there, in silence, in the eerie, glimmering hall, and wondered what to do. Erebos must have sensed the strange flicker of apprehension intertwined through their connection though, because he was soon behind the black fox and the kitsune felt everything go completely askew.
 
The warrior swallowed once, hollow and void, staring blankly at Enna’s bloody frame, and cracked in a few places – his heart, which didn’t understand why another one of his own had been massacred and why he hadn’t gotten to her in time, his mind, which shuttered and closed and then rebelled in such an act of sinister sensations that love and rage boiled and simmered and seethed through each and every Machiavellian membrane, and his frame, which careened across the floor without thought, maw dropping instantly to a patch of her pelt that hadn’t been covered in blood. Panic flooded his system too, in a way he couldn’t describe, flickering and faltering on the silly ways they’d argued and how stupid he’d been and how he’d stop being so ridiculous if she was still alive – he knew he must have been quivering like a leaf, a piece of grass in the wind. "Enna," his voice muffled into a sputtering hiss, into a snapping mess, ending on a hushed prayer, trying desperately not to see, not to remember, the image of a filly dead and distorted beneath his stare, a murderer gone unpunished even seasons later. There were too many things he wanted to say, too many things he wanted to sob out, too many things that left him broken, muddled, and confused. His mouth caressed, slid, over her ribs, her barrel, feeling the rise and fall of her breath, eyes trying to blink away the warped decree of tears slithering past his lids, "I'm so sorry,he whispered, murmured, a soft apology that he’d always regret. What good was he – this soldier who wanted power, who wanted glory, who wanted destruction, if he was incapable of protecting his friends? If he was so inept, so foolish, always one step, one moment, one instant, too late?
 
Why her, he wanted to ask the gods. Why Arwen? Why Enna? Why anyone? Why did the world always seek to destroy the good, and never the rotten, evil, pieces of filth wandering across their realm?
 
The rage bit against the sorrow, and so many things blinded him at once – the loathsome bout of vengeance reared its head, tossed a dagger into the fray, and he knew it was him, just him, feeling this way. Orsino was quiet, sitting in the gloom. Every ounce of nefarious intention was his and his alone; enraged and embroiled, staring down fleets of revenge, depraved and wicked – a promise, a conviction, ensuring her plight wouldn’t go unpunished. It unraveled through his legs and surged against his veins, and he tried not to show it, not to unfurl it from his grasp as he shook, as he quaked, as he touched her lightly and wished she’d had her a better life than the wake of terror she’d never deserved. The lad felt utterly useless, and perhaps that too stemmed and rooted the weight of wrath and resentment festering through his embittered figure; because he still couldn’t do anything for anyone he cared about (except…. Orsino whispered, hinted, more darkness pooling into his membrane), and his voice crackled again, a piece of fire against the earth. "Who did this to you?"

enna & erebos
for you, just you

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@Enna

Enna Posts: 172
Aurora Basin Time Mender atk: 6 | def: 9.5 | dam: 4
Mare :: Unicorn :: 14.1 :: 5 ( TALLSUN ) HP: 61 | Buff: NOVICE
Mehr :: Arctic Wolf :: None kels
#11
It is his voice that finds you within the darkness first.

His touch is a burst of color against the stillness, too bright to be processed as anything but pain, and you whimper, feel as your body flinches against it, the swell of fear that engulfs your heart then, the all-consuming thought that he has come back for you, come back to steal the breaths that still linger in you, somehow easier than they had been when he left. For moments you lay still, trying to find the courage, the strength in all of your exhaustion, to fight back, to flee, do anything besides succumb to the panic clutching at your heart. If you were less occupied, less numb, perhaps you would notice the softness of the touches, the wetness of tears among the drying blood, the way that he has pressed himself so close, the frantic beating of his breaking heart. It is only as he speaks that your terror slowly subsides into relief, and that relief sinks into sorrow as all of his suffering becomes too painfully clear.

It fractures something within you that you didn't even know was there, and your entire body shudders against his. It is obvious now, the gentle pressure of his weight against you, as comforting as it is heart-wrenching as your mind pulls from its haze, the unevenness of his breaths as he weeps. You cry out softly as you finally pull your head up, squeezing your eyes shut until the dizziness subsides. Seconds pass until you find the bravery to look at him, afraid of what you will find, to see the aftermath of all your stupidity. You want to ask him why, why he would be here, want to tell him to leave, to send him away but you know you need him to stay and before long the words, tangled with all your selfishness, die on your tongue.  

Who did this to you?

Your heart drops through to the very bottom of your stomach.

Out of all the things he could have said, could have asked, for as well as you know him, you did not expect that.

You only shake your head, looking down, away from his angled face wet from tears, from the edge in his voice, from all the anger blooming in his heart, that terrible need that you understand too well, fear too much. Even if he had been more than a shadow, ripped and bleeding, than that smell of ocean and pine so preciously (sickly) familiar to you, you would not tell him. Would not tell him of all the things he had said and how that voice will always haunt you, the ways that he had touched you and how your skin crawled underneath his sticky breath, how you can feel him there even still, the why of how he had left you, of the anger that smolders quietly beneath it all, the regret and bitterness that it had been him that found you, him that sits beside you now, trembling, crying, because he had seen it all before.

“I’m okay,” it is the only thing you can think to say as you press your nose to his cheek, knowing that it is not enough for what you have put him through, wanting to hold him, to comfort him, pull him from his too-bold promises, from his own self destruction, and back to you, to feel something besides the sickness that still clings so tightly to you. “I’m okay,” you murmur, your breath hot as it radiates across the dampness of his face. “And that’s because of you, you know.” You force the smallest of smiles as you pull away from him despite the sting of it, of your stupidity and all the dumb reasons you had been here and how he shouldn’t have had to find you in the first place. “I…” Apprehension grips tightly at your throat, your heart caught between wanting him to know just what he had done, to grasp how lost you had been without him and being too afraid that it would push him over some unspoken edge, anger him when all you want is for him to grasp just what he saved you from.  

“I had thought that I wouldn’t ever see you again, Erebos.” It finally comes as a quietly shaking confession, and all of the strength that you had feigned begins to crumble as your heart throbs with the words, as all of your fears (in truth, your selfishness) are laid bare for him and only him. “That Etziel… that he would be without me, as much as he thinks he wants that now,” you pause, laughing without smiling, your brows furrowing, a cold and consuming hurt slithering through your veins. “He would be alone.” Your voice gives at the word, tears that are so familiar to you anymore clouding your vision as they swell and tumble down your cheeks, your stomach twisting itself in knots. He would always have Erebos, you know, and friends that you can only hope that he will surround himself with someday, but to be without, to lose, a mother, a father, is an emptiness you know as well. But you shake your head, pushing away the inevitability, unable to cope with it just yet.  

“That his would be the last face I saw, that I would die, and no one would even know—and that, maybe, no goodbye would be better, for Etziel and for you.” It is unspoken, the name, the face, that flickers for a fleetingly painful moment before it is forced away, buried beneath your anger, your regret. He had chosen abandonment, to be without; chosen to say goodbye before even realizing all that he had given up. Even when you had found him along the shore and he had seen his child, his son, for the very first time, it had felt so forced, so terribly disconnected. You didn’t understand then, and you still don’t now, though you only feel bitterness where it had hurt in the months before. You shift against yourself, against the strained memory, eyes lifting to find the northern blue of his again as you smile softly, sheepishly.  

“I’m sorry, it’s selfish, all of this, I know,” there is a flicker of doubt within you then, a worry that forces your tired heart to skip a beat. Had you simply said too, too much? In trying to comfort him, to open him up to more than his self-doubt, that streak of youthful vengeance he holds to too tightly, had you only pushed him further away?


“But I’m glad that you are the one that found me—saved me—you that’s with me now.”

If only to show him he is not tethered to only being not enoughs, to failures, to disappointments.  

To show him that you meant what you had said about Arwen, and that he would have saved her if he had ever been given the chance.

That there is more than just the revenge that he craves.
(If only you knew how desperately.)


enna & erebos
for you, just you

image | coding


@Erebos
i didnt want to write her healing for a third time so i'm just going to say that before she kinda passed out she healed without being super consciously aware of it. she would have healed the fracture in her leg/ribs and repaired the punctured lung. :3
yay being lazy~


please tag enna in every post
violence permitted barring permanent injury / death

Erebos Posts: 474
Aurora Basin General atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1hh :: Four HP: 75.5 | Buff: DANCE
Orsino :: Plain Kitsune :: Dark Illusions & Enyo :: Common Griffon :: Draining Clutch Heather
#12
For every line of blood cut into her skin, his heart broke a little. In their absent fixtures grew corrosion, bitter resentment, tangible spider webs of cracked, etched, scorned abhorrence, acrid and incensed. They drew tiny rivulets of ice and contempt amidst the gallery of gallantry and valor, poisoning the pieces and shards that were once bright, beautiful things. Their luminous particles dimmed, solidified into sharp, haunting corridors, vessels that carried blood and fury, keen, eager to cut, eager to pierce. He didn’t feel Orsino shudder through both of them, he didn’t feel anything, anything at all but the impalement of sorrow and the judgment of nothingness; the wasted, empty conjecture of everything he’d tried to be and failed to do. The boy could barely look at her, because all he saw were his fleeting promises, his ravenous convictions, his perilous attempts to be something for someone flicker and die – and the weight of anger was too raw, grinding against his bones, straining at his seams, rasping and raking down his spine. He flinched, backed away as she cried out, too embroiled in shame, closing his eyes and trying to fight off the paralyzing notions that he’d disappointed her too (he wasn’t there, he was never there when someone needed him the most). He was always too late, always too slow, always two steps behind, and it was sickening, irritating, incensing to know those he cared about most couldn’t depend on him to save them. What had he been doing with his time? Did anything he attempt truly matter? When he swore vengeance, when he aimed for justice, why did more pain pile up? Why couldn’t he vanquish the right foes? Why couldn’t he massacre the demons who walked this earth? Why did he constantly try and try again, and feel no success?
 
He could barely hear her over the din echoing through his skull, over the rising tide of wrath, of loathing, spiraling along his soul – too infuriated, too passionate, too ardent to do anything but stare at the cave walls, and then down to her broken frame, blinking away the last of his tears. I’m okay she said, but still didn’t tell him, didn’t say who had torn her apart and left her to rot, wither, and decay in the dark, and he stood there, a massive sculpture of disaster and catastrophe, hoping for a way to slaughter, devour, and flay an unknown beast. His body trembled, shuddered, at the strangling noose of her fears, at the thought of never seeing her alive again, the last image of her down by the lake, or ensuing ridiculous antics in the Threshold would’ve been all he had left - and he swallowed back the bile rising along his lips, the horror, the rage, and the anger sliding its way upon his skin and becoming molten fire. Erebos burned from the inside out while she spoke, while she mended, while she apologized (for what his heart raged, and even Orsino backed away at the quiver of acrimony). The soldier, the prince, the fool felt his head shake, numb, arguing against her proclamations of all his deeds, as if he’d done anything at all to save her, of her son who would be left out in the cold, dark, dreary world without a friend, and a growl clung to his throat. It was rough and grating, like chains, like nails, like a hissing coil, twisting and turning down through his essence. "I didn't do anything. You shouldn't have-" he ceased for a moment, choked on the words he wanted to say, and then blistered others across his tongue, trying to finish them with clenched teeth and jaw. "You didn't deserve this.No one did, he wanted to say too, but she knew that already. But you, most of all thrummed through his mind, and Orsino wisely remained silent, caught in the shadows, lost in the crypt of violence and misery.
 
When all she said was how he saved her, he wanted to laugh – leave it empty and hollow, hanging like a tattered canvas, an oeuvre to lies and disbelief. He’d never saved anyone from their trials and tribulations. He’d never done anything at all – even when he tried, even when he proclaimed it to the gods and the abyss, to the heavens and the skies, nothing ever came of it. Arwen had since turned into dust, and countless others had disappeared. Naught mattered, but lord, he still wanted to try, he still wanted to be something for her, and he was sure, he was certain, if she could just let him destroy the fiend who’d touched her, who’d annihilated her, he wouldn’t feel so tattered, inept, and useless. He could fix this in his own way. "Tell me," the prince commanded, but it slid on a whisper, on a frayed hallelujah, on fury and vigilance, "Please tell me who did this to you," the warrior begged again. I need to do something, he yearned to add, yet, left it unsaid. 


enna & erebos
for you, just you

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@Enna

Enna Posts: 172
Aurora Basin Time Mender atk: 6 | def: 9.5 | dam: 4
Mare :: Unicorn :: 14.1 :: 5 ( TALLSUN ) HP: 61 | Buff: NOVICE
Mehr :: Arctic Wolf :: None kels
#13
“Shouldn’t have been chasing ghosts.” You murmur quietly, offering him an uncertain smile, afraid of indulging him in every secret kept so close to your heart, of all the unspoken things between the two of you and of that shattering into pieces, into ruin, into memories too jagged to hold. "And I've told you," you sigh as you roll your eyes, your smile shifting, deepening, trying to bury beneath it your fears, your hurt, the parts of your heart home only to your little lion consumed with worry, as much as it has ever been. "You're here. Doesn't that count for at least something?"

It is but a bird's wing on the window, illuminated by that little spark of hope that you clutch, that inkling of desperation that, somehow, you will make him see. You cannot help but wonder if that will ever be enough—if your absolution, your love, your belief, will ever be enough to bleed any kind of light into the darkness that he seems determined to find, to be. Tell me, he says, and something in your heart shifts painfully once again, reminding you of the truths about him that you always try to forget.

For all of your efforts you cannot hide that pain, the sour twist of your face as he unknowingly answers (no),

for what must be the thousandth time (no),

the questions you will never be brave enough, never be strong enough, to ask him

(no, you will never be enough).

Your head turns from him first, kaleidoscope eyes following moments later as they lift along the softly glowing wall, tracing the delicate lines carved within the semi-transparent pane of glass. And you are silent, only watching as the lava tumbles down in thick curls, remembering the awe that you had felt the first time you had ever seen it, sure that it was some magic or another, and bitterly reflecting on the emptiness that eats away at you now, that has eaten away at you from the moment you had set eyes on him. You breathe deeply, swallowing against the lump in your throat, the sullen ache within your chest.

“I don’t know.”

It's a skin you sink in to with difficulty, that feigned innocence, ignorance; the half-truth (because couldn't you tell him all of those things, the face that has been stapled to the back of your eyelids, carved in to your heart, your memory?) acidic on your tongue. “It was just a man.” The word is spit, as if he does not deserve to be called anything other than the scum that he is, taking advantage of those weaker than him. And maybe he doesn't, but there is just a speck of guilt within you for that rage that you still feel for what he has done, all the feelings and terrible thoughts that he has dragged up from the deepest parts of you, for the sickening sense of satisfaction, knowing you had hurt him for everything he had tried to take from you.

"And even if I did know, what would that mean?" You ask suddenly, quiet despite the anger brimming in your chest. "If I could tell you a name, show you a face, give you something more than just a shadow to pin your anger on, what would it do? Allow you to teach him something he does not care to learn?" Your voice rises along with that dark and feverish heat, along with the tangling of emotions and your own doubts of yourself, of his intentions and all of the things he thinks he wants to do, unaware or uncaring of what it could do to him, of what it could make him become—if not now, then the threat of that someday. Your confusion turns to guarded criticism as you scoff, shaking your head only enough to send ripples of movement through your knotted hair. "What would make it any different, any less wrong if you were to hurt him like he has me?"

It is not a single man that you question him about, but the others that you have sheltered despite their harm, protected because it is the only thing you could ever hope to live with. Beneath your self-righteousness, your poorly constructed attempts at self-preservation, there is also the need to understand him even if you do not agree, to know all of the reasons why underneath his convictions, just how he intends to not lose himself to them if that need ever simply becomes desire. For all your belief in him, it is something that you do not know, do not trust, that he would be able to differentiate.

"And what if something happens to you?" Somewhere along the way all of your ire has melted into sinking despair and the words, meant to be anything but as fragile, as feeble as you feel, are barely said above a choking sob. "What if... and because of me—" but you cannot finish it, instead pressing your lips together tightly, blinking away the stinging of tears, too tired, your body too exhausted, to cry anymore.

"Please, don't ask me to put you in that position, please."

The words are a soft plea as you turn to him briefly, only now attempting to rise on your slender, shaking legs. The clumsy effort is met with a spinning room, eyelashes brushing your cheeks as you squeeze your eyes shut, waiting for the new darkness to stop moving. "I'm still right here," you move towards him until your body presses in to him finally, tiredly, relaxing against the familiar heat of his own, if only for moments. "See?" You breathe sharply, a smile ghosting along your face, your head racing with all the repercussions of your weaknesses, anger, your (senseless) need to protect him as if he is nothing but a helpless child, incapable of making his own decisions.

"Can't that be enough?"

(Just say yes.)


enna & erebos
for you, just you

image | coding


@Erebos


please tag enna in every post
violence permitted barring permanent injury / death

Erebos Posts: 474
Aurora Basin General atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1hh :: Four HP: 75.5 | Buff: DANCE
Orsino :: Plain Kitsune :: Dark Illusions & Enyo :: Common Griffon :: Draining Clutch Heather
#14
The bitterness clawed at his flesh, tore him inside out. He could barely see her uncertain smile, her ambiguous grin; too shambled, too messy, too shattered. Piece by piece, he was being tightly sewn and woven again into layers of brutality and depravity; the boy could feel them stretching over his sinew, pressing at his skin, elongating and expanding over his form until all he wore was a veil, a mask, of anger and rancor. He was indignation and malice, acrimony and enmity, a potent, stark contrast of vitriol and hatred; where he’d been gallant before, only abhorrence showed – and though it wasn’t too her, never to her, his valorous image couldn’t hold, couldn’t stand, beneath the columns of shadows, the dusky scars her attacker had left behind. The tarnished, seething portion of his eyes reflected the hollows, the broken, hallowed vessels, ears listening, mind reeling, everything too close to home, everything laid out like chiseled contortions of iron and rust, chained against his neck, choking, suffocating him. It was beyond rage and ruin, abominations and treachery; all ferocity, coiled and snaking, an image of his father on the battlefield, a silent, fuming mess clambering to understand, to comprehend, why the world seemed doomed on repeating itself, and how he tried, strived, for things so far out of reach. You’re here, she whispered into the brushes and strokes of death, as if another hadn’t tried to annihilate her, as if he, this stupid, stupid little prince had any sense of worth to her. Doesn’t that count for at least something? How could it, he wanted to say to her. He yearned to grind the phrase, the query, between his teeth and growl, shake the cave with the force of his menace, but instead, his eyes focused on hers, deep, piercing portions where there was once light and curiosity, shaking his head in refusal. "It's not enough."
 
The youth hoped, the warrior yearned, the beast waited for something – a name, a title, a description, a piece of truth sketched between the schisms of force and trauma. His eyes went back over her canvas, her physique, her outline fractured by the coils of lava, by the junctures of newly founded marks; reminders to him, to her, that she’d been brutalized, that she’d nearly been massacred, for nothing. The scion’s heart lurched and then clenched again, in between another bout of tears and another round of contempt; and she only answered with I don’t know.
 
Erebos’ jaw clenched, holding back the frustration, the annihilation he yearned to promise her. But she continued, quiet, questioning, querying everything he’d ever known, ever strived for. Why couldn’t she understand what he wanted to do? What he had to do? The very core of his being hankered, coveted, for naught else but the relish, the taste, of destruction to this foreign enemy, and she refused to give it to him. Then, she seemed to scoff at him, like he was foolish, like he was nothing, like he was too stupid, too young, too daft, like he couldn’t have ever completed or accomplished this task despite all his acrimonious desires. He wanted to shout. He wanted to scream. He wanted to rage against the walls and scorch the halls, become a towering, infernal beast with naught to lose – rampaging, clawing, swarming through the streets with sword outstretched and wrath unleashed. Maybe then she’d see. Maybe then she’d believe. Instead, the darker, scheming portion of his membrane, of his skull, rattled, checked against the tethers, against the boundaries, against the menace clinging, vibrating, pervading off his bones. His voice was resolute, strong, vibrant with ire and fire, stare boring into hers as she shrugged him off, as she thought he was incapable. He wasn’t sure what hurt more. "It would mean he didn't get away with it. It would mean he'd be punished for his crimes, for his actions. It would mean someone would be held accountable for their cruelty." He practically shook with his fury, muscles curled, taut, clenched, and fervent for a fray she wasn’t giving him. "Why shouldn't there be consequences for his behavior? Why should anyone be allowed to corrupt, damage, and destroy everything?" Then, he leaned closer, until his mouth was nearly pressed against her ear, a whisper, a noxious, nefarious blend of all those vengeful things he stood for (ringing with reprisal, with revenge, with retaliation). "He should pay."
 
He didn’t care what happened to him. It was never a thought, never a notion, in the annals and canals of his Machiavellian mind. It was a desperate shift of honor, of valor, of bravery, boldness, and audacity, constantly throwing himself into a realm that forgot heroes and obliged villains. His heart and soul had always been reserved for his companions – those cherished, those beloved – and each wound, each scar, earned for them was nothing. The boy pulled away from her though, suddenly too close, but eyes never leaving, never drifting to the floor or to the walls, centered entirely on her essence, on her being, on her existence. "There should be some justice in this world. If no one else wants to bother, then I'll certainly try. I'll always try for my friends." Erebos even tilted his head, confused, bewildered, as to why she couldn’t comprehend the way he acted, the whys – she’d known how he’d grown, how he’d remembered. Then, as she pressed against him, as he showed him that she was still there (but perhaps, not quite whole), he listened to her question, to the matters of enough – and he didn’t respond. The room fell silent with the echoes of his refusal – because she could’ve been dead, and someone was still out there, alive and well, who deserved atrocities and malevolence. 

enna & erebos
for you, just you

image | coding


@Enna

Enna Posts: 172
Aurora Basin Time Mender atk: 6 | def: 9.5 | dam: 4
Mare :: Unicorn :: 14.1 :: 5 ( TALLSUN ) HP: 61 | Buff: NOVICE
Mehr :: Arctic Wolf :: None kels
#15
His anger is like wildfire to your paper heart.

You see the moment his face changes, tenses, and it is instantly mirrored in your own. You stare right back at him, clutching to your own anger, to stubbornness, to all the things that are swept away by the ocean of his eyes, leaving you no protection from the turmoil that you tried to bury underneath. His anger is like wildfire, and you can only burn within the billowing flames, unable to think of the words to help him when that is all you were trying to do in the first place, when all your help has only caused frustration, hurt, has only made everything all the worse.

The longer you look at him, the trails of tears along his face, the tightness of his jaw and the accusations in his eyes, you wonder if it will ever be easy like it had been before. If you would ever be the reason he smiled again, or if it would remain like this—if it would always be fractured because one of you said the wrong thing or fell victim to some tragic circumstance. If it would ever be simple, if you would ever be the children that yearned only for the fun of tricks and harmless sabotage, of silly little adventures that never amounted to anything truly worthwhile, only satisfied curiosity for a time.

’It would mean he didn’t get away with it,

If it would ever be easy to forget the two of you were forced to grow up way too fast, if only for a minute again.

It would mean he’d be punished for his crimes, for his actions. It would mean someone would be held accountable for their cruelty.

You cannot help the sharpness of the breath you take, stop the images of the man’s hanging flesh, the way it felt to be doused in someone else’s blood (and your skin crawls, sticky with the still drying substance)—the way your body cracked underneath his weight. The way he had walked through the dimness of the memory, as if he was barely able to stand himself, for all the blood he had lost. Your mouth tightens, eyes slightly widening as fear chills your heart with things that you do not want to consider a possibility.

Why shouldn’t there be consequences for his behavior?

Your throat tightens, the taste of bile overwhelming on your heavy, heavy tongue.

Why should anyone be allowed to corrupt, damage, and destroy everything?

You flinch as he leans closer, blinking rapidly as your head bows away, cringing against the words that fall like poison from him, thick and perverse as it rings in your ears: ‘He should pay.’ ‘I could have killed him.’ You want to say it, want to yell it until he understands just what you had done, just how the cretin had paid for it. Just the way it had made you feel, to damage someone else like you had, to not know whether they were even alive anymore, because of you. You want to make him understand, for all of his ignorance, his anger, his want of revenge. You want to, but as you look at him from the corner of your eye, a deep sense of shame, that little flicker of satisfaction, forces you to swallow the words, the notion, fearful of what it would do to him, to you, to say it out-loud.

He moves away, and though you want to follow, afraid of the distance in between, you stay, watery eyes never leaving his face.

There should be some justice in this world. If no one else wants to bother, then I’ll certainly try. I’ll always try for my friends.

You laugh, laugh for the way that it makes you forget the despair within the lines of his face, the lack of color there; the way that it makes you forget the resonating pain of your battered body, the abuse that came before. Laugh, because he makes it sound as if it is so simple that you want to believe he can. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, Erebos.” It is tender, the way you say his name even as your smile fades, as you somber, in the midst of it all again, unable to forget for too long.

“When you answer violence with violence, it only brings more. More violence, hatred, contempt—more pain—like the way you hurt now, because of what he did to me.” You smile softly, feebly apologetic, wanting to comfort him but knowing that it is not comfort in all of the ways you could possibly give it to him (a name, a face, the smell of pine and the sea) that he craves. “By going after him, it would only make someone else hurt like that. How is that still justice?” Perhaps it doesn’t matter to him, something that hadn’t crossed his mind because of the fact that it would be in retaliation, somehow making their pain less meaningful, less worthy, just less.

“I don’t blame you, for wanting that, for wanting to make him suffer. I don’t know what I would do if it was me that found you instead.” Your voice drifts to a notch above a whisper, shaky as you breathe out against the catch in your throat. It had happened once—you had found him ravaged, bleeding, hurt. It had been your first realization that he was not as invincible as you blindly convinced yourself, that he, too, could be taken from you so very easily. Even now it stirs a darkness in the pit of your stomach, your feral, innate, desire to protect him, to protect when he is so dearly precious to you.

“But I do know that I would want to see someone, anyone, bleed for just an inkling, a breath, of thought to harming you, to be made to suffer a thousand times over anything that they dare do to you. I—“ you stop yourself, squeezing your eyes shut as a shiver follows the line of your spine as subtle as an earthquake, suddenly naked, suddenly ashamed. “I would want to end them, and if I didn’t watch them take their last breaths, if I didn’t have the guts to do it, I would want to make sure that they would never forget what they had done. You are not wrong, or alone, in wanting to punish wickedness, or to seek out, create, fairness in an unfair world. Those that show cruelty because they can should pay.”

The man that had taken Arwen from him, from her family, should pay.

Misael for his mutilation of your child, Caleb for the act of conceiving her, the monstrosity that left you for dead, that would have left Etziel without a mother, without his father, should pay.

Anyone that would do something like that should pay.

You breathe slow, listening to the faint sound of his heartbeat, struggling against the rise of anger in your stomach, against the possibility that that anyone could ever include Erebos too.

Maybe it is not him that your heart doubts, fears, only that. Only him being mutilated by someone who felt it was right, just like he does, for wanting to make the world into something better for the ones he loves. Maybe it is only the chance that you will never be able to protect him, try for him, too, if he will not listen.

“Just…”
(Not because of you.)

“Nevermind.”

Despite the softness of the word, heavy with defeat, with a tiredness of listening to yourself talk, the hurt that breaks against your voice, it is a roar within the quiet, within the face of his utter silence, against the sting within your already aching chest. You pull from him as quickly as you had pressed into him, pirouetting on your thin legs, away. Away from his warmth and its comfort, its familiarity, tearing yourself from the fondness of his touch, the need for it nestled somewhere deep inside of you, and you move through this room of memories, memories suddenly too too much to bear, through the piercing, too-hurtful quiet. You only glance in his direction once as you reach the rocky little slope, your face calm against the sea raging just underneath before you slip away.


enna & erebos
for you, just you

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@Erebos


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Erebos Posts: 474
Aurora Basin General atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1hh :: Four HP: 75.5 | Buff: DANCE
Orsino :: Plain Kitsune :: Dark Illusions & Enyo :: Common Griffon :: Draining Clutch Heather
#16
The boy with the mischievous grins, with the exuberant wiles, with the rapturous zest for life disappeared, replaced with devilish hymns, with a molten heart, with a thirst for rebellion and an outcry for bloodshed. Gone were the days of silliness, of foolishness, because all he craved was destruction, too enticed, too enraged, to see beyond a ring of scattered bones and ichor-trails. He could’ve burst into flames, into a blistering, chaotic inferno, shuttered and cloaked the cave in one mighty infernal gallows, scorched, seethed, until the chains of his rage finally fizzled down into coals, into embers, into ash. But they were unrelenting now, unsettled, frenetic, sizzling below his skin, over the sparks of his innocence, along the course of his corruption. He was a violent torrent, a storm, a kindling of hell, smoldering and unholy, because she’d been hurt, she’d been cast aside, she’d been violated and mauled and didn’t want him to do anything about it; spurned his efforts at every turn. She couldn’t comprehend the lengths he’d go, the ways he’d delve into soullessness, into ferocious bedlam, into malicious enmity, just so someone suffered as she had, just so someone would never do it again, just so the world seemed right, seemed whole, seemed fair. The prince didn’t care if he was harmed, didn’t care if the winds drew the blaze back into his face, didn’t care if he brought down walls and empires on himself, became a skeleton beneath the rubble and ruin. His pursuits had been mixed with valor, honor, and then upheaval, disastrous and malicious – and he couldn’t separate them, couldn’t cut away the roughened fringes and harsh, brutal edges, piercing, puncturing the cavern with the treacherous lengths of his wrath. Too turbulent, too distraught, too caught up in the waves of anguish and derision, her words practically fell on deaf ears. The scion failed to see the flicker of fear settle across her features, failed to notice her flinch at the weight of his statements; too fargone, too dragged down by Lucifer intentions, Mephistophelean pursuits (they purred against his soul, scratched and crawled and seethed until everything combined, a flash of the sublime as an enemy’s carcass fell to the ground, as they took their last breath and he stood over their corpse, sword bloodied, heart solidified). He didn’t hear the morsels of tenderness stretched across the hollowed void (I don’t know what I did to deserve you), didn’t touch upon the nuances of comfort she attempted to proffer in the wake of her reproach.
 
All he could snare were the contradictions, the ways in which she’d hurt someone for his sake too (why, he wanted to growl in her face, why won’t you let me do the same?). His lips curled upwards in a snarl, stare forced elsewhere so he didn’t bend down towards her again and spit out something vile, something vicious, when she didn’t earn his ire (just had to watch it transform him). Erebos couldn’t fathom what it would take for her to understand, for her to comprehend that he needed to do this, and he glared at the walls, at the curls and coils of lava, at the ominous cut away in their paths. "Good. I want him to feel pain. I want him to understand what its like."  His vocals simmered, glanced off the apertures and warrens like a knife, like a dagger, like a blade, a rapier, a scythe, drawn, sketching over the figure of his enemies, immune to her regrets and rue. The scion turned back to her then, a vehement plea on his lips, begging for permission he should’ve known she wouldn’t grant – pondering the lengths he’d have to pursue it alone, without her aid, without her consolation, and if she’d ever forgive him for disregarding her appeals. "So let me." 
 
Then she disappeared on a puff of smoke and something stung him; the blatant nevermind as she gave up on him, as she realized his audacity would also be his ruin, as she tried to escape her wounds, her horrors, and left him to his own.
 
"Let me," he begged again on a heathen’s whisper, asking only the shadows and the wicked decadence brewing in his chest.

enna & erebos
for you, just you

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@Enna


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