01-03-2021, 04:12 AM
( tw: mentions of violence and gore / blood in the last three paragraphs )
Frustration. It bubbled and twisted beneath Michael's dark pelt, mutating and folding in on itself as he thought more and more about past events. He couldn't help it anymore, after all that had happened. He was so angry with himself, for not being able to assist more in defending The Typhoon. He was little help in the initial raid to try and hold the Coalition back, and he hadn't even been able to defend the temple from the Iron Forged. So, what good was he? He held one of the higher positions within the group, yet he could barely defend himself thanks to his small size, and how limited his powers truly were. Just using his earth elementals once or twice could leave him with a debilitating headache, and that simply wasn't acceptable. Even with all the training in the world, Michael wouldn't be able to make his body able to hold off beasts twice or three times his size. That meant that he needed his earth elementals in order to help out, and he couldn't afford for them to leave him half dead, like they had in the past.
It was because of this that the thief decided he was going to have a good old fashioned training session. Something to hone his skills, and hopefully increase his tolerance for power use. He had gone out to the shore of the main island, taking a deep breath inward and pressing his paws firmly against the sand below him. He channeled his frustrations and vented into it, his entire body sinking down as he began to lift a wave of sand with his elementals. He didn't stop there, though. He pulled the rocks from the ground, thrusting them up and out of the sand before he allowed them to sink deep beneath the earth again, not wanting anyone to get hurt. As he remained on the beach and did his training, he could feel his breath begin to get heavy, his head aching and his nose beginning to bleed. He could feel a migraine coming on, but he ignored it, gritting his teeth and continuing on with it all. He refused to give in this time. He needed to make himself stronger. No migraine was going to make him unable to protect his home. His family.
The male's anger was coming out in desperate gasps once he took a break, falling back on his haunches and allowing himself just a moment of rest. He wasn't allowed to enjoy it, however, as the nearby brush of the jungle began to rustle. Suddenly, a large wolf emerged from the jungle, although he hardly looked intimidating. His dark fur was already stained with blood, and he was dragging one of his legs behind him, barely able to hold himself up anymore. Michael was about to open his mouth and ask if the other was okay, but then he noticed it. The scent that clung to the canine's pelt, dripping off of every pore and contaminating the air. The Coalition. The wolf wasn't some innocent bystander that had been wounded while making his way through the jungle. Instead, he was a cowardly Coalition wanderer that had dragged himself into the brush when he saw that the battle wasn't going their way. He had thought that he could just hide from all the evil that his group had done, all so that he wouldn't have to pay the price. And now, he was showing his face, as if begging for forgiveness.
Michael did not offer any forgiveness.
All thoughts of his training or how exhausted he was were gone. Instead replaced by nothing but blood lust. The wolf opened his mouth, voice pathetic and pleading as he spoke, "No... please... can't you see that I'm hurt? Can't you just offer some pea–" The canine didn't finish his sentence, because suddenly Michael had thrown himself forward. His claws dug through thick fur and into supple skin, and as a wail of anguish was drawn from the wanderer's throat, the dealer found his mouth begin to water. It was only a moment before his maw was open, long front fangs plunging into the Coalition member's neck and coaxing another cry of agony from him. The thief ignored it, his fangs sinking in and his claws digging through skin and scraping against bone as he practically tore into the poor fool. It wasn't long before the other's life was cut short, any sounds of pain or cries for mercy absent from the air as his body slumped over, drained of blood and covered in wounds.
It was a long moment before the bobcat finally released his hold on his prey, the wolf's body collapsing onto the sand in front of him. Slowly, Michael looked down at himself, taking in the way that his usually black fur was marred with blood stains. His paws had grown dirty, and his "meal" was slowly dripping down from his jaws. After all, nobody had ever said that a vampire eating was particularly clean. With a half annoyed sigh, the male found himself grumbling as he eyed his jewelry, "Fuck. It's gonna be a bitch to get blood out of these. Maybe I need to get something new..." As he pondered that, he allowed his mismatched gaze to fall on the wanderer's corpse in front of him once again, a frown pulling at his muzzle. He prodded the drain body with his paw, questioning the open air, "Ugh... what the fuck am I supposed to do with this?" He needed to dispose of it sometime soon, at the very least. He didn't particularly care about his fellow Typhooners seeing him drink a Coalition bastard, but he didn't want any of the kiddos being subjected to a blood drained body.
Frustration. It bubbled and twisted beneath Michael's dark pelt, mutating and folding in on itself as he thought more and more about past events. He couldn't help it anymore, after all that had happened. He was so angry with himself, for not being able to assist more in defending The Typhoon. He was little help in the initial raid to try and hold the Coalition back, and he hadn't even been able to defend the temple from the Iron Forged. So, what good was he? He held one of the higher positions within the group, yet he could barely defend himself thanks to his small size, and how limited his powers truly were. Just using his earth elementals once or twice could leave him with a debilitating headache, and that simply wasn't acceptable. Even with all the training in the world, Michael wouldn't be able to make his body able to hold off beasts twice or three times his size. That meant that he needed his earth elementals in order to help out, and he couldn't afford for them to leave him half dead, like they had in the past.
It was because of this that the thief decided he was going to have a good old fashioned training session. Something to hone his skills, and hopefully increase his tolerance for power use. He had gone out to the shore of the main island, taking a deep breath inward and pressing his paws firmly against the sand below him. He channeled his frustrations and vented into it, his entire body sinking down as he began to lift a wave of sand with his elementals. He didn't stop there, though. He pulled the rocks from the ground, thrusting them up and out of the sand before he allowed them to sink deep beneath the earth again, not wanting anyone to get hurt. As he remained on the beach and did his training, he could feel his breath begin to get heavy, his head aching and his nose beginning to bleed. He could feel a migraine coming on, but he ignored it, gritting his teeth and continuing on with it all. He refused to give in this time. He needed to make himself stronger. No migraine was going to make him unable to protect his home. His family.
The male's anger was coming out in desperate gasps once he took a break, falling back on his haunches and allowing himself just a moment of rest. He wasn't allowed to enjoy it, however, as the nearby brush of the jungle began to rustle. Suddenly, a large wolf emerged from the jungle, although he hardly looked intimidating. His dark fur was already stained with blood, and he was dragging one of his legs behind him, barely able to hold himself up anymore. Michael was about to open his mouth and ask if the other was okay, but then he noticed it. The scent that clung to the canine's pelt, dripping off of every pore and contaminating the air. The Coalition. The wolf wasn't some innocent bystander that had been wounded while making his way through the jungle. Instead, he was a cowardly Coalition wanderer that had dragged himself into the brush when he saw that the battle wasn't going their way. He had thought that he could just hide from all the evil that his group had done, all so that he wouldn't have to pay the price. And now, he was showing his face, as if begging for forgiveness.
Michael did not offer any forgiveness.
All thoughts of his training or how exhausted he was were gone. Instead replaced by nothing but blood lust. The wolf opened his mouth, voice pathetic and pleading as he spoke, "No... please... can't you see that I'm hurt? Can't you just offer some pea–" The canine didn't finish his sentence, because suddenly Michael had thrown himself forward. His claws dug through thick fur and into supple skin, and as a wail of anguish was drawn from the wanderer's throat, the dealer found his mouth begin to water. It was only a moment before his maw was open, long front fangs plunging into the Coalition member's neck and coaxing another cry of agony from him. The thief ignored it, his fangs sinking in and his claws digging through skin and scraping against bone as he practically tore into the poor fool. It wasn't long before the other's life was cut short, any sounds of pain or cries for mercy absent from the air as his body slumped over, drained of blood and covered in wounds.
It was a long moment before the bobcat finally released his hold on his prey, the wolf's body collapsing onto the sand in front of him. Slowly, Michael looked down at himself, taking in the way that his usually black fur was marred with blood stains. His paws had grown dirty, and his "meal" was slowly dripping down from his jaws. After all, nobody had ever said that a vampire eating was particularly clean. With a half annoyed sigh, the male found himself grumbling as he eyed his jewelry, "Fuck. It's gonna be a bitch to get blood out of these. Maybe I need to get something new..." As he pondered that, he allowed his mismatched gaze to fall on the wanderer's corpse in front of him once again, a frown pulling at his muzzle. He prodded the drain body with his paw, questioning the open air, "Ugh... what the fuck am I supposed to do with this?" He needed to dispose of it sometime soon, at the very least. He didn't particularly care about his fellow Typhooners seeing him drink a Coalition bastard, but he didn't want any of the kiddos being subjected to a blood drained body.
— Reggan
