12-06-2018, 10:55 AM
[align=center][div style="max-width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-size: 9.4pt; line-height: 1.4;"]//the murder starts after the line, but all you really need to know is there's a heap of mangled/eaten bodies with the scent of The Ascendants
Pincher was supposed to fix him.
Reaper had waited, and waited, and waited, but he never came, and he wondered if betrayal felt like this, if abandonment could hollow him out so viciously while leaving him so hungry still. The anger returned slowly at first, and then all at once, the spite acid in his throat that burned every sound. Reaper had always known he was a tool, a means, death with a leash, but tools were valuable.
Pincher didn't seem to think so, and from what he'd manage through his splintering mind, he learned that the web he'd made had been taken by the wind, pulled to bits because they wanted to play nice with each other. People so quickly forgot death.
Maybe he should remind them why they raided The Ascendants in the night, why Marina had slavered with with unhinged fury. She had nearly finished Reaper's job for him. If she had, Reaper could be done with this, purpose fulfilled; he could rest, escape this savage hunger. But he knew now the road went ever on, and if there was a grave at its side for him to crawl into, he couldn't see one yet.
He had only his wrath and his famine, but they were all he needed to drag them all down with him.
The obsidian lion dragged himself onward, the many slitted mouths along his body desperate to fill their cavernous wounds with flesh. He would not deny them.
He did not.
The people who came to see him at the border died. Only three of them, but their numbers became indistinguishable when torn to bits and strewn across the ground. Gnawed to bone, and bone splintered, reddened fragments he licked his tongue raw on. The blood drew more, and his eyes now were a fierce alizarin; he had enough of himself left to set the Sunhaveners on each other, watch them succumb to the bloodlust in Reaper's skin. He chewed over the leftovers when they finished, soaked his fur and his throat with their crimson, delighted in the sweetness.
He lost awareness after that.
When it returned, bit by bit, the border reeked of split flesh and death, mangled and broken bodies overlapping, sharing distorted shapes. A sliver of bone slipped through his teeth, fell onto half a sunken head. He quivered with the demand for more, the eyes and mouths all along his silhouette seeking new skin to tear.
It was a challenge, but Reaper pulled himself back, and the air free of blood burned his lungs, sour in his mouth. He rumbled a growl, frustrated, but this- his work was done. The stench of bodies had The Ascendants' scent within claw marks and fang imprints, and they- they could not ignore this.
Reaper would finish what he started, no matter how long it took, and he blinked out of sight.
Pincher was supposed to fix him.
Reaper had waited, and waited, and waited, but he never came, and he wondered if betrayal felt like this, if abandonment could hollow him out so viciously while leaving him so hungry still. The anger returned slowly at first, and then all at once, the spite acid in his throat that burned every sound. Reaper had always known he was a tool, a means, death with a leash, but tools were valuable.
Pincher didn't seem to think so, and from what he'd manage through his splintering mind, he learned that the web he'd made had been taken by the wind, pulled to bits because they wanted to play nice with each other. People so quickly forgot death.
Maybe he should remind them why they raided The Ascendants in the night, why Marina had slavered with with unhinged fury. She had nearly finished Reaper's job for him. If she had, Reaper could be done with this, purpose fulfilled; he could rest, escape this savage hunger. But he knew now the road went ever on, and if there was a grave at its side for him to crawl into, he couldn't see one yet.
He had only his wrath and his famine, but they were all he needed to drag them all down with him.
The obsidian lion dragged himself onward, the many slitted mouths along his body desperate to fill their cavernous wounds with flesh. He would not deny them.
He did not.
The people who came to see him at the border died. Only three of them, but their numbers became indistinguishable when torn to bits and strewn across the ground. Gnawed to bone, and bone splintered, reddened fragments he licked his tongue raw on. The blood drew more, and his eyes now were a fierce alizarin; he had enough of himself left to set the Sunhaveners on each other, watch them succumb to the bloodlust in Reaper's skin. He chewed over the leftovers when they finished, soaked his fur and his throat with their crimson, delighted in the sweetness.
He lost awareness after that.
When it returned, bit by bit, the border reeked of split flesh and death, mangled and broken bodies overlapping, sharing distorted shapes. A sliver of bone slipped through his teeth, fell onto half a sunken head. He quivered with the demand for more, the eyes and mouths all along his silhouette seeking new skin to tear.
It was a challenge, but Reaper pulled himself back, and the air free of blood burned his lungs, sour in his mouth. He rumbled a growl, frustrated, but this- his work was done. The stench of bodies had The Ascendants' scent within claw marks and fang imprints, and they- they could not ignore this.
Reaper would finish what he started, no matter how long it took, and he blinked out of sight.
[align=center][table][tr][td]
FEELS LIKE I'M
[/td][td]FALLING APART
[/td][td]FALLING APART
[/td][/tr][/table]