Trust me, you are nothing but another weak animal minding the strongest whip
Pure fury ran in rivulets down his skin like the sweat that soaked through his pelt. Muscles trembled with their palpable rage, and murder bubbled behind the red of his eyes. Teeth grit so hard that he swore he bit the inside of his cheek, swore he tasted the blood, swore that he felt a nick of pain that bubbled into pleasure. The thunder roared and the skies poured, weeping for the bat before him as he tasted the grit of sand. Hot, heavy breathes turn to frost as the air pours from his nostrils, sides heaving with a mixture of insanity and a breathless need for revenge. Was it revenge, or something more? The stormsinger really had done nothing to him, other than the grievous mistake she made thinking her teeth could sink into his throat and end it all. But he could not - would not - allow her to feel victory, he would not turn tail and run... after all, what was the purpose of a weak Warden?
Those thoughts were a moot point as his hooves met pathetically fragile wings. He heard that sickening snap; his chest swells and his gut turns. Blood dribbled from snapped bones, torn flesh, arteries blown open, muscles slashed. He felt it immediately beneath his hooves at the very moment of impact, and in a torturous manner, he ground his feet into her wing and the red-drenched snow below it. He, now and forever more, would live to see the stormsinger scream.
Her cries were to him like her stormsongs were to her: raw and powerful, intoxicating. Sadism curled the corners of his lips, as the smirk and snarls were wiped so cleanly from hers in mere seconds. It warmed him in places it shouldn't have, obscene and wretched a creature he was. The world fell away from them once more, the sounds turning to muted, muffled whispers in his ears. The air felt white-hot, the snow chilling him past his skin and muscles, all the way down to his bones. It felt beautiful.
What he didn't feel was his labored breathing, didn't see the smoke rising from the hot breaths blasting from his nostrils, didn't feel the throbbing pain of the bite wound or the static noise of the nerves lit aflame in his back leg.. the world was gone, and all that was left was her, the prey to his predatory nature.
Everything felt so silent, so quiet, so right as he watched her sobbing, writhing, screaming on the ground. That was for Rostislav echoed in his mind and curled the corners of his lips even further. How, just how, did her overconfidence blind her so astoundingly well that she was unable to see how foolish she was? Did she truly think she was a match for someone who towered over her so.. or was she letting her arrogance blind her?
As she lay prone on the snow that steeped crimson beneath her, he approached. The Warden could end her, right here, right now... the fragile column of her spine would crack easily beneath the weight of his hooves, just as the bones of her wing had snapped so exquisitely.
The Denoctian champion lay before him, turmoil and fury roiling in her beautiful eyes. For as disgusting a creature as he knew he was... the Warden had no intention of killing her. There was no fun in that. Instead, he would revel in her agony, in the sputtering, livid words that dripped form her lips as his head lowered so close to her own. The Warden's eyes - nearly as intoxicating as the mulled wine their color resembled - stared into her own, seeping dominance and pitied mercy as the storm died around them when its handler fought the oncoming darkness. His breath was hot against the skin of her cheek as he stood so brazenly close to the downed fighter. "Was this — this attempt at vengeance for an act I didn't even participate in — worth it, Stormsinger? Was your arrogance and overconfidence worth it?" he purred, gazes locked.. even when her eyes fluttered.
"Tell me," came the growl, predatory and guttural. His teke grasped a sharp rock that laid before her, its tip glinting even in the darkness that roiled around them. F-fuck you she spat, and he laughed at her, mocking.
The warmth of his lips ever so lightly brushed against the junction of her jaw and cool chocolate skin. "You're gorgeous when you're mad," he taunted, the sharp point of the rock taking the place of his muzzle. Cruel gaze left her own and trailed to the line of vivid stars outlined on her fur, mere inches from where the jagged stone lay pressed against her skin.
Those thoughts were a moot point as his hooves met pathetically fragile wings. He heard that sickening snap; his chest swells and his gut turns. Blood dribbled from snapped bones, torn flesh, arteries blown open, muscles slashed. He felt it immediately beneath his hooves at the very moment of impact, and in a torturous manner, he ground his feet into her wing and the red-drenched snow below it. He, now and forever more, would live to see the stormsinger scream.
Her cries were to him like her stormsongs were to her: raw and powerful, intoxicating. Sadism curled the corners of his lips, as the smirk and snarls were wiped so cleanly from hers in mere seconds. It warmed him in places it shouldn't have, obscene and wretched a creature he was. The world fell away from them once more, the sounds turning to muted, muffled whispers in his ears. The air felt white-hot, the snow chilling him past his skin and muscles, all the way down to his bones. It felt beautiful.
What he didn't feel was his labored breathing, didn't see the smoke rising from the hot breaths blasting from his nostrils, didn't feel the throbbing pain of the bite wound or the static noise of the nerves lit aflame in his back leg.. the world was gone, and all that was left was her, the prey to his predatory nature.
Everything felt so silent, so quiet, so right as he watched her sobbing, writhing, screaming on the ground. That was for Rostislav echoed in his mind and curled the corners of his lips even further. How, just how, did her overconfidence blind her so astoundingly well that she was unable to see how foolish she was? Did she truly think she was a match for someone who towered over her so.. or was she letting her arrogance blind her?
As she lay prone on the snow that steeped crimson beneath her, he approached. The Warden could end her, right here, right now... the fragile column of her spine would crack easily beneath the weight of his hooves, just as the bones of her wing had snapped so exquisitely.
The Denoctian champion lay before him, turmoil and fury roiling in her beautiful eyes. For as disgusting a creature as he knew he was... the Warden had no intention of killing her. There was no fun in that. Instead, he would revel in her agony, in the sputtering, livid words that dripped form her lips as his head lowered so close to her own. The Warden's eyes - nearly as intoxicating as the mulled wine their color resembled - stared into her own, seeping dominance and pitied mercy as the storm died around them when its handler fought the oncoming darkness. His breath was hot against the skin of her cheek as he stood so brazenly close to the downed fighter. "Was this — this attempt at vengeance for an act I didn't even participate in — worth it, Stormsinger? Was your arrogance and overconfidence worth it?" he purred, gazes locked.. even when her eyes fluttered.
"Tell me," came the growl, predatory and guttural. His teke grasped a sharp rock that laid before her, its tip glinting even in the darkness that roiled around them. F-fuck you she spat, and he laughed at her, mocking.
The warmth of his lips ever so lightly brushed against the junction of her jaw and cool chocolate skin. "You're gorgeous when you're mad," he taunted, the sharp point of the rock taking the place of his muzzle. Cruel gaze left her own and trailed to the line of vivid stars outlined on her fur, mere inches from where the jagged stone lay pressed against her skin.
- A razor-sharp point, pressed harder into the tender flesh where her jaw kissed her neck.
- Blood wells where the tip pierces the skin.
- Skin rends as the jagged edge is dragged in an oblique shape.
- Blood would drip down her neck.
- The points of the rays nearly as sharp as the dagger's edge that made them.
- Hot breath and warm skin on her ear again, refusing to let the darkness pull her in. Words of poisoned honey:
- "It's not safe to be alone with me."
Chest: CLOSED -- @Aislinn -- Consent was given by @roo for Tor to cut Aislinn's neck -- code ©inkbone -- Bust
[ please tag @Torstein in all replies ]
I have three eyes
TWO TO LOOK ONE TO SEE
