i n f a m o u s ||CRIMINAL OFFENSE|| ___private

[Sivoncé™]

I won't soothe your pain.
I won't ease your strain.

Night littered the sky in an all-consuming land-fill, pouring an opaque cover of cloud across what was formerly a playing field for the stars. The moon did not show itself. The air was brittle, harsh, and fond of blistering lips, cracking weary pads. The scenic mountainland was infested with sickness, stray running trickles of water like blurry eyes and nostrils, and sharp ice precipices like cracked, feverish skin. Dull and dreary though they were, their sore, open blisters gaze refuge. Santucary in a world that seemed rampant with filth in the recent moons.
The female was crested with frost, dancing in an out of consciousness. The consciousness was a murky thing, a play that included finding something to sink her teeth into, and then collapsing into the quiet of unconsciousness. The preference was most definitly not of consciousness -- the black was satin soft and required absolutely zero action or energy. Nothing but laying there, unaware, feeling nothing at all.
But the worst was waking from not being so.
Waking to being covered in dirt and glacial white, as she burrowed into the snow for shelter typically. Sometimes there was vomit, too. Hers? She didn't know...
Sylvana was sick, terribly riddled with sickness. How she'd come about aquiring the diseased that so plagued her, she did not know. She remembered vaguely what seemed to be a past life, where she'd had other priorities and needs and wants and memories, and even a family. She had heard word of a plague taking the land, but wolves finding the vaccine for the invisible tyrant. No vaccine had been given to Sylvana. It was unlucky, really, that she hadn't found another wolf. Other wolves would've known immediately what was happening with the ocean of pain laid itself out for her. She would've been cured. At this rate, it would be a miracle if any wolf saw head or tail of Sylvana ever again. "Kill me. God, just kill me...."
She collapsed again into the ether, blistered throat agape and running with a thick trail of slime and blood.

A mile or so away from the female, a dark brute loped through the deep of night. He could've been hunting, though several scent trails had crossed him and he'd turned away from all of them. The scent that had disturbed Damien so greatly was one that was familiar to him, or one that had been in a past life. Nightmares followed him closely now, and he broke into a feverish sweat at night. She'd been dedicated to the cause, that she-wolf. The only one besides he and Redfang who had an ounce of sanity. And even at that, Sylvana was never exactly an angel. She wasn't cured of her own character yet. She'd still needed time....time...Time that was taken away from her when the gates crashed open and the flames kissed earth....
Running towards the only Hellfirian scent that might not inevitably kill him could've risked showing himself to the array of enemies that now hunted him. He swallowed uneasily as he ran. There was no garuntee that Sylvana wouldn't blame him.....
...no garuntee she wouldn't want to kill him, too.

You've been waiting in vain.
I've got nothing for you to gain.

[.Rabid Lycan.]

((definitely a Danceul-worthy intro post, sivvy XD))

Death’s embrace. The coldest of gestures that a creature’s lifetime can produce. But, as sure as Hellfire’s flames do burn, the teeth of winter are high in the ranks of universal discomfort. The surreal, arctic winds that shield the sky from the earth in a veil of white. The maddening sting of ice numbing raw flesh. The season with the born ability to reduce lush meadows to barren tundra and the season without a conscious. Winter, which leaves its victims without a hope for survival. This is the unpleasant reality of snow… yet, as Mother Nature would have it, life continued to defy probability in the form of a lupine fae, one that navigated expertly across a frozen river in pursuit of a fellow wolf.
Jeez, Damien… you can’t stay still at all, can you? A day ago you were ‘going for a hunt’ and now I’m tracking you through the night!
She walked with a slight limp from her healing scars, but she was recovering quickly from the quarrel. Aside from that, she had learned; her eyes were wide and her ears were open for suspicious sounds of wolves in pursuit. No one is catching me off guard this time...
Pausing to, once again, scent the air, Sanceul found herself upon a faint odor. Another wolf? What? Slightly troubled by her discovery, she crept forward, knowing that she was more than likely miles and miles behind Damien. Wherever he’s going.

[Sivoncé™]

(Thankies =D)

Damn damn damn.....take me now! Just do it. Kill me. Bring me back to the flames, back home, where it's warm as a fucking oven. Burn my intestines from my stomach, I don't care, just...
"Kill me...." her breathing was hastened and flowing slowly in and out, lethargic, reluctant to continue its monotonous pattern up and down a blaring red cavern and into shriveled, cowering lungs. No point. It's pointless. They brought me back here to kill me again, the Grand Pupeteer and his minions. Kill me again for leaving her in that god forsaken pack, kill me again for failing Verlust, kill me again for losing Zeffen, kill me again for following that Redfang, that bitch....

Damien came to a halt after some time, shivering unintentionally from the night's bitter mithlessness. The cold was unmoving, unsettling. There were no caved about, the base of the mountains still being some ways away. Nothing but flate permafrost..... but the scent....that scent...it was tantalizingly near. "Sylvana?" he called, uncertain. "Are you out there?" He barked, still not fully sure of his actions. He shouldn't be out here, he could be totally blowing his cover, Sanceul would be pissed if he did that.....
And all of this would be for nothing. I wouldn't live to make any impression in the world whatsoever...

[.Rabid Lycan.]

Every heartbeat, every rush of blood to her heart, and every gulp of air inflating her lungs brought the expanse between the two wolves all the more closer together… she hoped. Her limbs exploding into overactive animation, she glanced up at the moon and pled for the safety of both of them, for she could feel a sense of foreboding with every step. With any luck, the Hellfirians won’t be out and about tonight… but there’s always a chance that they are. Gritting her teeth forcefully against her cracked, frostbitten lips, she uttered an audible growl to herself. And if he’s in trouble, I’ll save him and then kill him…

Yet even farther away, a determined brute bounded through the mounds of snow, plowing onward in search of a scent. Unfortunately, he had not been acquainted with Damien beforehand, and therefore had no scent to go on. He was, however, graced with a relieving ‘blessing’, of sorts: Morgan had caught up to him, claiming to know Damien’s scent very well and offering to aid in his search. Too desperate to be suspicious of his true intentions, Zeffen agreed and traveled onward, whilst Morgan tracked not Damien’s trail, but Sanceul’s.
You’ll be getting yours soon, my daughter… and I’ll enjoy every second of it.

[Sivoncé™]

"WHAT?!" Came the hoarse, trembling croak from quivering lips, splattered in gleaming crimson. "What, what do you want? You gonna kill me? Do it. Just please...do it." The plea would only reach the ears of a nearby rabbit perhaps, or one with extended, elongated hearing. Damien was still clueless and paranoid in his search for his former packmate. He traced back a few steps, sniffing the grounda round him more thoroughly.
Please tell me I won't find a dead body at the end of this trail....that'll be a little too much....I can't afford to vomit and collapse here.....ah, god, Sylvana, can't you just let me find you already?
Sylvana stirred in her half-burrow, blinking open her crusty eyes, wincing with a moment's pain as they broke the diseased coating. Not going to kill me....another wolf....maybe they can help....heal me? Heal me....this sickness has a cure....the others found it. They'll have it. They'll give me back my sanity.
"Where are you? Come here, come here! NOW!" She barked loudly, voice echoing in the area around her. She shut her eyes as lightning plunged down her throat, raking it with sharp claws as the words withdrew themselves. She struggled to a stand, glaring around at her surroundings.
You'd better damn well help me, or I'm seriously giving up this time.

[.Rabid Lycan.]

Snow crunched beneath their paws, forelegs sinking into pockets of sleet wherever they made contact. Morgan and Zeffen were unfortunate enough to be heading in the direction of the wind, thus causing stealth to be difficult and making tracking by air impossible. Morgan relied on branches and rocks and animal tracks to lead the way, and so far he hadn’t caught wind of his daughter—no, wait!
Freezing in his tracks, Morgan closed his eyes and inspected a branch, nostrils straining to catch a trace of his target. And he was in luck; incidentally, he had come across the area where Sanceul had crossed in search of Damien. He curled his lips in satisfaction, but his inner triumph was interrupted by a frantic yip from his traveling partner.
“I smell her!” Zeffen exclaimed, his tail parallel to the ground and his fur bristling at his neck. “Faintly, but I smell her—Sylvana’s been here!” Hope flooding his heart, he took a bounding leap in the direction of the scent. “We won’t need him after all!”
Morgan, steel/indigo eyes widened, swiftly double-checked Zeffen’s findings, and was dismayed to find them correct. Damn!
Resorting to a back up tactic, Morgan jumped in Zeffen’s path, shoving the other wolf down. “Calm down, Zeffen—there is no scent,” he lied. “No doubt it’s the cold and your feelings for her that are playing tricks on your judgment!”
“W-what?” Zeffen stammered, glancing back at where they had found the scent. “No, I… I swear, I found her… I…” He closed his eyes tight, and Morgan relaxed, confident that he had convinced the brute. But Zeffen surprised him by jumping to his paws and slipping into a sprint, chasing the ghost of a scent that could lead him to Sylvana. He then let out a howl, much to Morgan’s great displeasure, that could never reach the distant ears of Sylvana nor Damien in this weather… but could possible reach that of another.

Sanceul, panting and pausing from her run, leaned over in an exhausted fit. Those herbs do wear off fast, don’t they? But, almost as soon as she had stopped and began regaining her depleted oxygen, an unfamiliar wolfsong breached her ears. It was faint, having been muted by the weather, but was no doubt nearby. The wind had no doubt carried it with it. Jumping to a stand with new energy, a distrustful crease above her eyes carried a determination that led her into a dash in the howl’s direction.
For all she knew, they could be the enemy… and aside from that, she wanted to get close enough to scent the identity of the caller.

[Sivoncé™]

A sounding came from just up ahead -- a desperate plea for help, a series that was voiced in a tone familiar to Damien -- a tone that was Sylvana's. She's here! And hurt? I should've told Sanceul....she knows herbs! What am I gonna do? The mountains are too far... He froze, a trio of scents collectively drifting to his nose on the rush of winds, two in a single direction, one in another. Sanceul ran towards him alone, but the others....he did not know their names, but the fire burned in his nostrils enough to know they were Hellfirians. He turned and sprinted in the direction of Sylvana's call, but something tripped him --something frail, weak, yet it couldn't be anything but a rock or patch of ice....

Darkness shrouded her suddenly, and then came a crushing pressure. A black avalanche had reigned over her, and she was slave to the coma it induced. Damien had slid on a fallen Sylvana, and now she was locked in unconscious limbo, between desire to heal and yearn for relief.

[.Rabid Lycan.]

Trampling over dead foliage and sparse clumps of winter berries, Morgan slowly gained on his Hellfirian companion. But he knew Zeffen would not give in easily, with the scent of his mate growing ever clearer on the breeze. I have to invent a lie, a story… something! Anything! Finally brushing flank to flank, Morgan lifted his head, slackened his lower jaw, and came down with full force on the desperate male. The acceleration of their sprint carried them another several feet before they hit the earth and rolled to a gradual halt. Zeffen struggled, but Morgan held him fast at the throat, his fangs already beginning to penetrate the vital flaw in a wolf’s design.
And, almost immediately after Zeffen fell, the winds began to die, only to be reborn from the opposite direction, a breeze shoving Morgan’s pelt in the opposite direction. He was now downwind from Sanceul. Finally! he growled inwardly. Something to occur in my favor!
“Let me go! LET ME GO!” Zeffen yelped, a few stray tears lost in the plush pockets of beige fur beneath his eyes. “She’s near… let me go to her…”
“Enough, Zeffen, you fool!” Morgan hissed in return. “You need to learn to cooperate and listen to what you are told, or face the consequences!”
“Please…” the trapped wolf gulped, his voice breaking. “Please, I j-just want to see her again… let me go… please…”
“I already told you that there isn’t—!”
The wind. There was a distinct scent on the wind. Morgan slowly lifted his head away from Zeffen, instead using his torso to keep him down. And he could only grin in fiendish delight. The winter breeze had betrayed Sanceul’s location.
So, she’s coming, is she? Well, then, let her come…
“Fine, go,” Morgan woofed, stepping away from Zeffen. After flashing the other male an expression of complete and utter disbelief, Zeffen leapt forward and carried himself in the direction of Damien and Sylvana, who were a mere mile away.
Still smirking, Morgan ducked into the cover of a nearby thicket, and crept toward the others at a much slower pace than Zeffen. Here, my darling… where are you now?

Sanceul paused as the wind shifted, suddenly blind to the enemy’s whereabouts. The elements were now against her. Damn it, no! She hesitated, straining for a trail that she could follow. Then, on instinct, she headed in a direction, believing that she could detect a faint odor stemming from the direction. And whatever it was, it was moving fast… toward the direction she believed Damien was heading.
It has to be a Hellfirian!
Breaking into a dead sprint, she attempted to catch up with the wolf, hoping that Damien was alright… and unaware that her father had fallen into step behind her.

At last, the final yards were being cleared. Zeffen had no doubt in his mind that his beloved was somewhere in the vicinity… but only saw a dark figure lying in the middle of a barren clearing. His ear twitched, his movements slowing to a stop. Who is this? Where is she? Did he… did he do something to her? The wolf, thick with Hellfirian scent but not caring for aggressive appearance, asked quickly, “Please, have you seen a fae?”

Sanceul saw the figure up ahead, approaching Damien. No—I know that scent is Hellfirian… but it’s also familiar… Pushing those thoughts aside, she raced up behind Zeffen, leapt, and dug her fangs directly into his skull.
“Go back to where you belong!” she cried, blood running over her lips as teeth met flesh.

Zeffen howled in agony, swerving and attempting to dislodge the clearly livid she-wolf. He swiped at her, scoring her across her foreleg, but unable to hit a vital point. Thus, he struggled… all the while Morgan, hidden from sight and undetectable due to the wind change, looked on in silence.

[Sivoncé™]

Leave me tonight, when the warnings said leave a shudder upon you
Running from all that you've feared in your life

Everything happened so fast.
The three were rapidly appraoching -- a Hellfirian was tracking Sanceul, right on her heels possibly, and all three of the wolves were spiralling towards Damien at an alarming pace. He stood, searching frantically for the damned fae that had sent him on this wild chase in the first place. Damnit, if Sanceul gets caught because of you Sylvana, I swear I'll wring your neck when I find you!
The scream rose just behind him, whipping past the hairs on his neck and standing them straight on end.
"DAMIEN HELP ME!"
He whirled about, shivering terribly. A ghost. Sylvana was a ghost. And then there was a figure at the edge of his vision. His fearful copper eyes locked upon Zeffen, dilapidated, grief-strickened, shocked. He was a Hellfirian, yes...but...
"Please, have you seen a fae?"
Damien didn't answer his question, but instead, looked down. A few feet from his tense paws laid a crumpled, blood-laced Sylvana, shaking uncontrollably....in the midst of a sickness-wreathed seisure.
Sanceul slammed into Zeffen as Damien's vision snapped up, the second Hellfirian lurking in the shadows.
"NO! SANCEUL, WAIT!"
A mate....Sylvana told me she had a mate...what was his name, damnit!
"Sylvana, WAKE UP! What was his name, your mate's? What was your mate's name?" He growled fiercely in her ear. "Sanceul, get his name, his name!" He whipped his head around, a snarl automatically spurting from his maw as she caught the gaze of the wraith prowling in the shadows. He abandoned Sylvana, rushing the hidden foe. He came to a halt, circling the brute. "You're none I recognize. Perhaps buried too deep and Tartarus, then?"

Soul of the night, will a son mislead paint a horror upon you
Marking the moment, displaying in my ghost of a life

[.Rabid Lycan.]

Whilst in the midst of being whipped to and fro by the force of the brute’s thrusts, Sanceul uttered a grunt of understanding when Damien asked her to get his name. That I can do she thought, wincing when her fangs were pulled at a little too roughly to be comfortable. Slackening her group, the fox-like femora slipped from Zeffen’s face and landed perfectly balanced on blanket of snow. Her supposed opponent lowered his head, moaning in pain from the horrible bite he had endured. Finally gaining enough strength to lift his head, he saw, through scarlet-tinged vision, a fragile but familiar creature. Sylvana was lying a few feet from him, in a great deal of pain, and no doubt near death.
“Oh, God, no…”
But before he could react further, Sanceul was upon him once more, using the momentum of her spring to force him onto his back. Fangs at his throat, she shouted with all the authority she could sum up. “What is your name?”

Morgan watched as an aggressive wolf neared him, clearly a brute prepared for a brawl. A sinister grin snaked onto his face, plastering itself onto his maw as Damien circled him, like a predator cornering prey.
“Perhaps,” he woofed, “But where I come from matters not to you… although that female over there—Sanceul, is it?—will probably be pleased to know that the Twilight Realm did not welcome me. However, who I am does make a great deal of difference in both your lives, I imagine…”
He pivoted on his hind leg to face Damien no matter where the other brute wandered about him, waiting for the precise moment to launch his final move; to check mate the other player.

Whimpers and howls echoed from Zeffen’s muzzle, his mind distracted by his mate and unable to bring himself to escape from the predicament. Sanceul, whose patience was wearing thinner with every wasted second, continued to demand a name and ignore the nonsense that spilled from his tongue.
“What’s your name!”
“Please, no… god, no… please…”
“Your name!”
“She’s… she’s dying, no…”
Digging her fangs dangerously deep into Zeffen’s throat, she snarled a final time, her coat bristling and tolerance reduced to naught. “TELL ME YOUR NAME!”
“…no… MORGAN! HELP ME, MORGAN!!”
Glass shattered. That’s all it took to drain Sanceul of all emotion. The single name, the one that she could not begin to even describe. There were no words for the loathing and absolute fear that overwhelmed her, but when she finally regained mobility, Zeffen had taken advantage of the situation and kicked her off of him, sending her soaring and then rolling into the snow. Freed, Zeffen raced to Sylvana’s side, and began licking her cheek. “No, no… Sylvana, it’s me, Zeffen…”
It took a few solid minutes for Sanceul to stand up and turn her head toward Damien’s direction. She saw a figure beside him, blurred by her snow-hazed vision, but a figure that she recognized immediately. And she felt herself speak before she knew what she had spoken.
“MORGAN!”

Morgan glanced up, mildly surprised by Sanceul’s exclamation. But it was distracting enough for him to use to his advantage. “Sorry, Damien—that is your name, isn’t it?—but we’ll have to finish our conversation later… my little darling is calling me.”
In a fraction of a second, the brute had launched himself into the air, soaring over Damien and landing firmly on his paws on the other side. From there, he broke into a dead sprint toward the wolf who had uttered his name.

Sanceul stared, memories of their last encounter whipping through her mind. He had almost won last time. He had defeated her, dragged her to his den, and done unspeakable things to her in a week’s time. But he had relished in his victory too much… she had cut his throat in the end. But the agony of each memory seized its hold on the fae, and even though she had more than enough time to dodge the oncoming brute—and certainly enough agility to slip to the side with success—she find herself, for the first time in her life, immobilized by fear.
Morgan took her down, a fangs at the side of her throat, and shoved her onto her back.
“An eye for an eye, was it not?” He glared down at her, the twin scars over his eyes seeming more grotesque than ever now that the giver of the wounds was within reach. “Or how about a throat for a throat?”
Biting down, Sanceul hardly struggled, staring at her father with tears of horror forming in the corners of her eyes.

[Sivoncé™]

Now I can't stay behind
Save me, from wreaking my vengeance upon you

Damien whipped around and dashed after the brute -- his nemesis as the moment had branded him forever. Morgan. The wolf that had to die tonight, lest Sanceul pay the price. The price for Damien's own stupidity and naive lack of intelligence. Not on my paws. There will be no blood on my paws but Morgan's....
The blood lust was on him, the feeling inscinerating his insides with such a heartless ferocity that under any other circumstances, he would've been afraid of his own self. His vision was tinted a shade of deep scarlet. His breathing accelerated as his moscules flexed forward in a dead sprint, something he didn't even feel. He wouldn't feel ever agian. Not until his limbs crashed into the target, ahead and clear. The one point of relief from this instinctual hold. Morgan.
Die, then, Morgan. Die!
He rammed the brute, hardly aware of anything else, though in a remote consciounce at some foreign location, a flare went up to remind him Sanceul would be crushed by the weight if he attempted to attack Morgan from his back. Claws creased through skin, bringing with them the sound of tender flesh falling away from the body. Damien scored his back, overcome with venom....thirst....blood....
Carnal desire had him in rapture.

Sylvana's vision flickered open, and silhouetted over her, a heavenly angel in the brown-blotched sky, was Zeffen.
"So this is what it means, to die?" she woofed softly, eyes struggling to persevere. Just to see him for a bit longer.....a bit longer....hold on....
"Zef.....Zef, I love you...."
That was all the lips could form, the only words they could afford. Something in her was burning, deeper and darker than even the twisted and tyrannical mind of the thick-sweating fever. No, this was animalistic, impulsive, compulsatory....
"Zef....something's happening....it's not right.....get me out of here, please."
Here. Here in this hell, this torment -- the very musing of life itself seemed futile, like a miniscule cell on the blood that flowed freely from her maw. What was the point?
Burning....alive.....alive, I'm burning.....

Too chilling more than I can tell
Burning now I bring you hell

[.Rabid Lycan.]

"...I... I love you too."
At that moment, Zeffen was unsure whether he was shedding tears of sorrow, relief, or confusion. But above all, he knew that Sylvana was hurting, and it pained him to know that disease was beyond his control. What can I do? Oh, Lupus, please don’t let her die… “W-Where do you want to go? I-I don’t…” he paused, exhaling painfully and attempting, but not succeeding, in suppressing a stammer. “…I don’t u-understand.”

Morgan suddenly felt the raw agony of something tearing his back into two. Even in the death lock that he had trapped Sanceul between, he found himself losing his grip, his fangs sliding out from the deep wounds he had inflicted on his daughter’s neck. He felt himself growing heavy, and he lowered himself to crush Sanceul beneath them for a brief second. But he found himself unable to handle the pressure on his new wound, and quickly rolled off of Sanceul’s body in an attempt to shake Damien’s deadly grasp.
An infuriated snarl rumbled from deep in his throat, and for once the battle-minded brute wished not to fight at all. Instead, a deep desire coaxed him into ensuring that he had enacted his revenge; he struggled against the other wolf, but continued to steal glances at his daughter, trying to see if she had been saved by Damien’s actions, or if she had fallen victim to a fatal bite. But all Morgan could see was seconds of an immobile wolf, lying in her own blood… but nothing to indicate that she had truly fallen.
Thus, he eventually turned his fangs on Damien, and attempted to take out one of his forelegs by lunging at his shoulder.

[Sivoncé™]

Free me tonight, lest the animal caged free a terror upon you

The fire split, scintillating in seperate paths in the mess of veins and arteries that wove in her system. She was abalze, her pyre charring her to bits in a single moment, she gasped for air, but it avoided her lungs like a wolf shied away from death-bringing claws. Her eyes flew wide open, her lungs and chest suddenly compressed.... "Plague....the plague.....the cure....." the words were squeezed out in a whisper....and then...
Combustion.
Her body rocked back and forth as barbaric snarls gnashed forth from her swolleN, closing throat. Yellowed incisors snapped down inches from Zeffen's face. The creature was cradled in a demonic embrace, possessed, in need of excorcism. She was no longer wolf, no longer lupine.....immobilized mentally, she was nothing but a satanic slave to the disease she'd been wrought with.

He was thrown backward, but it was a feeling of mild pressure -- the sensation of his paws striking the cold earth once more was not entirely unpleasant. Gutteral abraisions tumbled from his maw automatically now, not even needing provocation. The threat was here, now, in the breath of the instant. His eyes latched themselves unwaveringly to Morgan -- he'd thwarted the brute, but this battle was not over, it would never be over, it would thunder on endlessly until--
--I throw you to your flaming grave, and you'll never hurt us again. Dead in the ground, nothing but a lifeless corpse, a pile of coal in the devil's fields.
He began to circle, but the male had flung himselF at his shoulder. The impact was hard, skin ripping where the fangs had grazed him. He met the ground with his back, though the fall was softened slightly by a thin layer of snow. Immediately, upon reflexive instinct to protect his exposed underbelly, his hind legs rolled up and kicked upward, ready to catch Morgan when he tumbled over him.
He was a different wolf. Not the moralistic, pure-hearted, innoccent wolf. The brawl with Regulus was child's play, the one true playfight he would be able to look back upon. This was war, this was battle, this was what it meant to be wolf. And yet...
Someday, he knew he would be able to comprehend something other than the desire to run Morgan devoid of blood by means of his own teeth. But this was part of him....this was part of all wolven kind.

Caught in the moment, engaging in my bloodlust tonight,

[.Rabid Lycan.]

“…god… no, god no… not this…”
Realization was a painful experience when the truth was unwanted, but it needed to be released. Sylvana was diseased. And Zeffen did not know the cure knew a cure, but was unable to bring himself to carry it out.
I don’t know herbs, but I know how to take a life…
He couldn’t even believe himself for thinking such a thought. Tears were now free to flow down the sides of his cheeks, and a tortured whimper escape his maw. “Come back to me, Sylvana… you have to, please…”
Even through all the deeds he had done—the murders, the plots, and the wars—he could not fathom that Sylvana would meet such a terrible fate. Was this punishment? He watched with crushing hope as his love began to transform into a hateful beast, and was nearly completely convinced that he was being reprimanded for his reckless actions.
Why else could this be happening to her…? Oh, damn it, why can’t Death take me instead!

The impact of paws against his stomach was a sledgehammer to the abdomen, Morgan instantly void of breath and rolling to the side. He doubled over, coughing for breath, but retaining a semi-defensive stance by rolling onto his vulnerable underbelly, determined to keep his vital organs safe from Damien’s fangs. One slip onto his back, and the mistake would cost him his life.
But when he finally recovered from the blow, Morgan did not return with another attack. It was obvious that his cover had been blown, and that Damien was not going to back down and allow him to finish his work, if there was any left to finish. My pride is what got the best of me last time… I have to be more careful.
Without warning, Magnus took a few steps back before ducking into a fleeing sprint in the direction of the woods, with only a final, angered glanced over his shoulder at his foe. You’re next on my list, you interfering bastard.

Never before had snow seemed so warm. Perhaps because Sanceul’s diminishing life had left her cold, and by comparison the snow was, indeed, comforting. Or perhaps her dying mind was being driven into insanity that presented the illusion that the snow was warm. But in either case, Sanceul found her golden eye staring into a blue-hazed world of white, while the onyx gem that was her other eye stared out into the world, red-hazed with the blood of her own throat dripping down to distort her vision.
Damien and Morgan fought just behind her, not seen but heard faintly through near-deaf ears. And when the sounds ceased, she only uttered a barely audible gurgle as she struggled to breathe, before she decided to surrender to her pain and begin to drift her lids closed…

[Sivoncé™]

Hello there....

The fire was there, yes, but there was something else, now....a gaping blackness inside that slowly spread its shadowy, misted fingers outward. Unfeeling smoke. Nothingness. The relief she'd been waiting for....but no longer wanted...... No. Not yet! Not now, now that he's here, now that I remember my name....not that I remember who I am, not now that I can taste the air, no.....
So she fought. Somewhere between the failing heartbeat and the veins that pinched themselves shut, she fought. It was a hopeless battle, but she clung to something past the rabid wave or her own insides beginning to fail her. I can't not now, oh please, not now...let me stay with him. Just a bit longer. I burned for moons now, don't make me burn so soon again, not so soon, no when the breath of life touches me now, again....don't let me go....
Her breathes were scraggly, ranging from quick pants to determined deep inhales and exhales, and sometimes, it seemed she would not breathe at all. Somewhere between the innards of life and death.....

Damien staggered backwards, blinking slowly, the tint of red slowly leaving his vision, and the color, however bleak, still seemed a shock after the adrenaline of the clash. The red neglected to leave his shoulder and paws, but instead, it rested there in dormancy....and it strewn itself umbrella-like over Sanceul's ravaged form.
"Sanceul...." he breathed, voice hoarse, distraught. He took a few rapid paces and looked over her, eyes catching her lacerated, bloodied throat. "No...god no...." He backed away from her, eyes flooding with and unexpected hot flow of water. Yet somehow, he knew it would come. He'd given himself over to nature, instinct....lust for the kill. At first, he'd thought it had been a new part of him, something he would be able to use when he fought side by side with Sanceul. But he was one-sided now. There was no other friend. In the moons that had followed Secret Fang leaving his life completely, he'd thought of that quick-witted banter with a sly fondness, something that had crept up on him in stealth. He'd realized only a moon ago how much it would hurt....how much of a friend Sanceul really was. How often they coincidentally ran into each other, even when they parted ways. How it really wasn't so much coincidence. They were friends. They looked out for each other.
And it was fitting now, that he hit the ground, shaken to his core, that he would remain one-sided as he continued forth in the cruel tease of life. It was self-absorption that had brought him on this path into the world. And so be it that he be alone in it to suffer with himself, the tyrant he would forever hate. Pin him together and alone with the thing he destested most now in the universe. The perfect revenge.
"I'm sorry....I failed you."

...the angel from my nightmare.