REMEMBER: {panic}IS ONLY 2 WORDS AWAY FROM{picnic}

[Sivoncé™]

A paw perssed down forcefully on Freya's throat. She choked as it compressed her airway, sputtering for a moment then rolling away from her captor, spitting and hissing defiantly. I'll go down fighting. I don't care what they'll do to me, none of it will be voluntary! I am a wolf of the Siverian pack, and I do not step down lightly!
Flisk's dark pelt suddenly came between her and her foe. She managed a small smile at him, but it was a sad one. "Flisk, I'm asking you to go back. I am a Siverian proeliator....I fight this battle in the name of my pack. Siveria didn't back down when she was about to die....as her pack daughter, neither do I." She turned to Morgan, eyes sparking with hate. She staggered to a stand, keeping the weight off of her bad leg so she could face Morgan. "Go, Flisk," she affirmed, no longer looking at him, but boring holes of hatred into Morgan's skull.

Assyria watched the scene, highly amused with the fuss. "Now now, you'll have to wait your turn, Yozoran. Go back to your cave or....I'll go fetch my mother. You know who that is? Babylonia. If you don't know, you will after she's torn you limb from limb. Get back there, now!" She kicked Flisk hard in the gut, eyes flaring. "Have fun, Morgan."

Neveria ran to the front of the den, after Flisk, but halted immediately and watched the scene before her with wide eyes. She knew she may not be able to look away now, to go back to the rear of the den knowing Freya was being tortured just outside. Should've stayed back there...

[♫Flisk♫]

Flisk growled lowly, but whenn Morgan stalked up, his ears went back slightly. Licking his lips, he held his fear and anger as Morgan began to taunt him. Shaking his head slowly, he bit his lip. A slow line of ruby red blood trickled down onto the grass and he tasted it's metallic flavor, the salt leaving him with thirst. That was another thing. Are they going to starve us? Dehydrate us? He blinked, crystaline blue eyes boring a hole into Morgan's scar. Feeling nauseated, he looked away and snuffled.

Assyria seemed cruel enough. She was just about choking Freya, the poor wolf, and right now he thought he was going to die right here, protecting her. But quickly, as he thought of the circumstances, did that thought fly away. He looked up to the sky and silently begged for some kind of mercy from these evil wolves. And him, the only male, a neophyte at that, was shaking, scared to death. A hard blow to his gut sent him somersaulting backwards. With his breath taken away, he lay there, gasping. Looking like a fool, he snarled at Assyria, his last action before slinking back to the front of the cave to watch quietly and see what would probably happen to all of them.

"Oh...crap."

[.Rabid Lycan.]

Observing Flisk’s retreat with attentive interest, Morgan broke his focus at the words “Have fun, Morgan.” He turned to face Freya, no longer preoccupied with the other captives. True, he would not have the luxury of time or privacy as he had with his former victims, but all the same, he was intent on leaving an impression. Or, at least, have a good old time with my new toys. Dear Verlust, I missed this!
Grinning sadistically, Morgan quietly crooned at Freya. “You got spirit in you, eh? I admire that, you know. I truly do. Makes you stronger, more willing to sacrifice, and you put up a better fight. More fun to break, that’s for sure.” He took large step toward her. “In every wolf, there is a body, and there is a soul, you know. Separate, but not completely. The best of us keep them apart, but never all the way—there’s always a line, no matter how faint, and when you cross it, you can kill both little birdies with a single stone. I’ve seen it happen. Snapping a body in half is easy. You just need to find the right amount of pain to damage your spirit as well…”
Morgan continued taking steps until he was standing directly in front of Freya, studying her with an almost wistful expression. “Let’s see if we can find your breaking point shall we?” He lunged, aiming to knock out her footing and grab one of her legs with his fangs. First things first; need to weaken her a bit more. Weakens their body, their mind… rasher decisions. More fun for me.

[Sivoncé™]

The scream was waiting for escape, beared at the front of her maw with her gritted fangs. Morgan lunged forth, Flisk no longer there to stand between them. Incisors tore, explorative in the flesh of her hind leg. The scream drew back, receeding when it was no longer needed. Freya gasped, wincing, but remained calmed with a closed maw.
It's broken already, I can't feel it anymore...I wonder if I scream if it'll make it worse or better? Maybe he'll get bored with me if I give in too easy. But would a strong packwolf bear it? Maybe....if it was best for their pack. Right now, if I he leaves me living, that would be what's best for my pack. So we'll fudge it a little bit.
They purged deeper, blood oozing out in lazy rivers at the point of incision. She widened her eyes, staring disbelievingly at her leg. Her maw moved, closed, moved, opened...
"NO! GET AWAY! GET OFF! STOP IT!"

[nighty!]

Missing looked at Flisk and then watched him as he tried to protect another wolf. She couldn't believe that anyone could do that. She couldn't believe it at all. The neophyte knew that she couldn't do it. No way, no how. She just couldn't, doesn't even have any guts in herself to force herself to do that. Missing needs to be found, to escape, run away, but how? There is no way. Her eyes started to see two of everything now. She got up try to get away but then fell on the ground, out cold.

[/blockquote]

[.Rabid Lycan.]

The reaction was immediate. Morgan drove stakes into his victim’s limb, the flavor of blood greeting his senses with utmost familiarity. A screeching cry woke from the depths of Freya’s throat, interrupting Morgan’s lust for torture. He pulled back, then, and relinquished his hold on the fae. The twin scars that burned his eyelids seemed to focus on the prey, but the eyes themselves told a different story. As opposed to pleasure, a look of disgust had washed over Morgan’s features.
“You proved honorable by turning away that male. You spoke of your pack mother, Siveria. You can last longer than this, you whelp. You wish to die disgracefully? Alright, shame your heritage! All the more reason to kill you slower!”
He dove down, aiming to sink his jaws into her stomach this time, slowly sinking his incisors into her lower flank.
“Want to give me another scar or two? Go ahead… but don’t fuck with me.”

[Sivoncé™]

His spite shook her resolve. Almost as soon as he released, her scream dropped and silenced. She looked up at him blankly -- he seemed almost repulsed by her. How does that work? She narrowed her eyes. "Fuck with you? No thanks, I'd rather not. And I'd watch yourself, you....you pile of ashes! Siveria's name doesn't roll off the tongues of the damned!" Her stomach was purged by lightning fangs, gradual in their descent into her skin, but electrocuting all the same. Her eyes bored into his. A small, humorless smile pressed across her lips. "Then we should make this fair, shouldn't we, Morgan?" As he stood over her, snapping at her stomach, she lurched for his leg, clamping down with all of the might left in her.
I guess honor is the right thing after all...

[.Rabid Lycan.]

A malevolent grin quickly bloomed across his muzzle, and Morgan choked out a strain of laughter when Freya’s jaws fastened around his limbs. “Ahh, now we’re talking! A ‘pile of ashes’, am I? Anything else you’d like to add?” He pulled away from the wound he had dug into her skin, maroon stains now staining his maw. While one of his paws was currently under siege, he lifted the other foreleg, and lightly traced a line from the wound on her stomach up to her chest.
“…let’s see what we can do here…”
He stabbed into her skin, running a claw down the line he had traced, and forcing himself to mentally block off the pain in his leg, which was becoming increasingly difficult. She’s feisty. Always good.

[♫Flisk♫]

Flisk flinched as he watched. His paws were kneading the ground, disgust flickering through his eyes. He began to grow dizzy, just imagining the pain. Glad he had backed off, he whimpered quietly to himself. How could he get out of here. Whining very quietly, he paced the floor, listening to Freya's words. They soon subsided and Flisk turned to stare at what was Freya trying to fight Morgan.

"How long is this gonna last?"

He muttered under his breath. Shaking his head, he felt the guilt, the most terrible guilt he had ever felt. It boared a hole in his stomach, making him feel like he had to vomit. His stomach growled violently, but he made no move to see as if he heard it. A loud whump surprised him and he looked up, cocking his head. Missing was laying on the ground, out cold. Blinking, he poked a paw at her.

"Erm...you okay? Heh...uhmm..."

[Sivoncé™]

Freyas teeth snapped down hard, fighting the pain, the growls that trembled inside of her throat. Her eyes struck out at Morgan with unconcealed hatred boiling in their depths, her weak but vigilant hearbeat like a pulsating testimony to this disgust. She rolled, causing the gashes in her stomach to tear slightly, but she still managed to untangle herself. She rose shakily, a curtain of blood dripping from her new wounds. She searched frantically for an idea, a way out, an escape...anything to help her pack....dying wouldn't let them know what they were up against....
"I'll make you a deal, Morgan...." she muttered darkly, stuggling to catch her breath.

Neveria remained huddled in the back of the den, cowering and flinching at every little noise that blared against her eardrums. She blinked towards Flisk miserably. "We're never getting out of here, are we?" she began to realize.

[.Rabid Lycan.]

His prey wrenching away from his claws, Morgan leapt to a stand (as a precaution should Freya be attempting an assault), but soon relaxed. Wincing as he moved his injured foreleg, he inspected his other claw while Freya spoke, casually flicking away droplets of blood. Morgan appeared rather uninterested with Freya’s proposition; his attention centered more on indulging in her suffering. But, nevertheless, after a minute of quiet, he mustered a response.
“While I did not volunteer for this position to sample your ability to bargain, I suppose I have nothing to lose by listening. What do you propose, my dear?”

[♫Flisk♫]

Flisk turned to Neveria and winced as the truth was abruptly revealed. He closed his eyes, wishing nothing to happen but for him to wake up, back at camp, everything okay. He snuffled and let Missing lay there as he walked over to Neveria and swallowed. Looking out at the sudden stop in the torture, Flisk paced back and forth. He was sure the others could see him, but really didn't care. His black pelt whipped as he violently turned around. He hadn't answered Neveria yet because he was still trying to accept that same fact. Stopping suddenly, he began to think. Okay...I'm going to be here forever. They probably won't kill me...they'll use me somehow so my packmates come. Torture...erm...I guess I can handle that. I'll fight back so fiercely...Erg! Okay...I can handle this...hopefully. His voice shaking, Flisk finally answered Neveria.

"Probably."

Suddenly there was Morgan's voice and Flisk stared out to the two. They weren't fighting, but standing there, bleeding.

"Do you know why they stopped?"

[Sivoncé™]

Freya swallowed hard, heart thudding dangerously against her fragile bones. She shuffled her paws, a mingled uncertainty and reluctance stirring her. What if this doesn't work? What if this backfires? There were a million and one ways her plan could fail. And the worst part is it doesn't even depend on us. It depends on how far a wolf can be pushed before sanity breaks....
"Don't kill us. Train us. You don't trust us now, of course, but it's only a matter of time before we realize we're stuck, right? Last time, Blood Mist died out when its followers were killed. There was one pregnant femme, and her pups went to the Yozorans. Take back your wolves from the packs. Don't kill us. Use us." The words were in no way hers at all. Her stomach knotted uncomfortably. I don't understand what they're capable of yet....what if they actually turn me?

[.Rabid Lycan.]

Morgan listened intently to the anxious femme, his tongue slipping between his jaws and sliding across his bloodied lips. His eyes were trained on the crescent razors of his forepaw, the claws speckled with scarlet and flecks of grit. His expression was serious and unwavering. Then, at last, he angled his optics on the female—the twin scars highlighting his stormy blue eyes—and sneered at her.
“‘Don’t kill me! Convert me!’ Is that your plan? Sure, I could spare all of your lives right here and now. We could raise you up nice and good, teach you our ways, and pretend that you’re one of us. But there’ll always be a time… you’ll use our teachings against us, or you’ll turn sides in battle to save a packwolf friend, or something!”[/i] He was scowling at her, but his frown was gradually dissolving into indifference. “…but at the same time, it’s an interesting idea on your part. Personally, I find ripping your limbs off more fun, but that’s just me. Hey, Assyria!” He glanced over his shoulder, attention now on the BloodMist femora. “What do you think of this girl’s proposal?”
There’s always the outside chance that we can actually warp their minds into thinking like we do…

[Sivoncé™]

Neveria crawled slowly forward to the front of the den, paws careful and unwilling. There was a force drawing her forward towards the head of the den, some brand of intuition beckoning her to the sidelines of the arena. At Flisk's words, her pelt bristled warily, blinking wide, terrified eyes at her packmates. She shivered as paranoia slid down her spine. "Stopped? They stopped? But why? Can you hear what they're saying at all?" She swallowed hard and forced herself to take the next few pawsteps so that she was even with Flisk's shoulders, and could peer out as well. She cringed visibly at the sight of Freya's tattered form, heaving a few tail-lengths away from Morgan, who licked a paw casually, in no apparent rush. Neveria swished her tail anxiously, blinking back at Flisk. She strained her ears to hear, but she couldn't decipher what their conversation entailed. "What do you think?" She asked Flisk.

Freya grew still in panic as Morgan dismissed her proposal as if it was a bothersome fly, batting it away without a care in the world. Her eyes grew round and peeled from her executioner to the femme near the entrance to the cave, who was gazing at Morgan with a sickening adoration. "Hm? Well, I guess she's got a point," she murmured, though Freya could tell she grudgingly said so. "We need new blood if we are to carry on as a pack....and Babylonia's the only bearer -- and hell, who knows how those kids are gonna turn out..." she rolled her eyes for dramatic effect, snorting with distaste. "But this girl's far too honed in the packland ways. She's young, but definitly not a neophyte. Most likely a warrior of a few moons, yes?" She blinked towards Freya expectantly, but the Siverian only gaped at her as her blood ran cold.
What have I done? I haven't been able to save anything for the packs. I'll be killed in a matter of moments and Flisk, Neveria, and Missing will be left to whatever series of torture they call training....
"Yes....yes, but so are the others, they are--" Freya began.
"I'm not blind, whelp! They're ages younger than you are. Neophytes. Young, young neophytes. Still ripe for the taking. They haven't been completely imprinted with pack slander. Keep them, kill this one," Assyria dipped her head and smiled sickly sweet as Freya's mouth began to move in protest.
"NO--"
Assyria snarled harshly, silencing Freya instantly.
"Oh...ohh yes," Assyria drawled, sneering in her victory. She nodded to Morgan, settling herself once more in front of the cave.
"Have at it, gladiator."