BASTILLEPRISONER AURELIUS

When he comes to, it feels oddly like deja vu. The sticky warmth of darkness unfurls from him slowly, groggily, almost reluctant in a way; he can feel the remaining tendrils of silence lingering there, pulling on heavily limbs and slowing down his pulse. There is a moment of dazed confusion, a bleak second of feeling like he must have stepped into the past, but the sensation clears away within moments and instead he is left putting together the pieces, stalled. Pale blue eyes slit hazily, and he blinks before the pressure on his chest finally registers as someone holding him in place, bearing down. There is a beat where he meets Valkyr's gaze where he realized, abruptly, that he remembers that sudden thud now.

Motherfucker.

The sudden awareness pumped him full of adrenaline, and he pushed forward instinctively, a snarl escaping — but his body is battered from the fall, belatedly seeming to realize that the wind has been knocked out of him; he coughs, falling back just as quickly as he had lunged upwards, breaths coming in a wheeze. There is an instinctive push for his powers, to fall the wind forth or flames or water, anything, to fling this threat away — and he is met with silence, his powers strangely silent, lacking. Nothing but white noise that leaves him more taken aback than the fall does.

And that too, somehow, someway, strikes a familiar cord with him. He flares once more, a bit desperately, and the elements still do not answer; a last ditch pull for teleportation, and nothing happens; a rapid cycle through everything available to him since his typical ability to fight was handcapped, and nothing, nothing, nothing. His breaths still come in labored pants with his rising sense of alarm and the pain wracking through him and the ominous sense that he has been here before pulled him deeper, deeper.

"Fuck you," he spit at the stranger with a mouthful of blood, because his words have not failed him at least and he is anything but quiet in the face of Fate. Even that lurks deep in the recesses of his subconscious, and Bast feels an irrational anger not at this situation but at the way he can't seem to shake the feeling. His veins light up with fire at the irritation, the confused anger, and he channels that fury into another mess of bloody words as he adds, "What, don't know how to fight someone face to face? Coward."

BY THE GRACE OF THE FIRE AND THE [color=#b4d5ee]FLAMES

the scent f iron blood had brought him here.

as had the sounds of flesh torn and the shadow sown beast rumbled curiously - he recognised slave-prey turned gentle? drone - knew the other to now be hypocritical for having stolen food from their mouths only to claim more now.

an amused hiss.

but the beat turned his attention to the corpse, jagged teeth parting to reveal a secondary mouth that jutted outwards quick as a flash to attempt to drag a morsel of flesh to his blood parched appetite.

© MADI