[M] [P] Pain is a God.

Lucia Cabriel · 08-16-2010, 03:19 PM

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WC: 711.

It was still dark, though it would not be long until the sun reared its ugly head. The sky, in all its blackened glory, was already beginning to surrender to the many shades of gold, pink and red. Daybreak would soon sweep over the landscape like a plague, and reveal all the ugliness of the world for another day. A humid sweat swallowed everything, the trees almost appearing to melt in the heat of it all, shade a kind beast when it could be found. As the shadows began to shrink, shade a lesser pleasure to that of the morning sun, there was a strange trail over the dirt and sand of the Inferni borders. Blood… A small trail of droplets had begun to dry, lumps forming as it had seemed to fuse itself to the ground. Though, as they had seemed to get closer and closer to the borders, the droplets had increased in size, and the sparsely placed trees bore the marks of injury – nails had been drawn down their barks, as though someone seeking their strength, and smears of crimson painted their skins in smudges – there had been pain around here today, a lot of it, yet for those not looking, the receiver of such, would not be seen.

Sharp, short breaths came from an obsidian maw, each breath drowning in the rattle of pain and discomfort. Malachite eyes half-closed, blurred from tears stared blankly over the horizon, their once wild fire now a mere spark, dimmed from the agony in which stole the female’s face. Her jaw, swollen and bruised; blood dribbling like saliva over her lips and tangling in her pelt. One arm grasping across her middle, as though a failed attempt to make breathing easier, Lucia’s body lay slumped against one of the border poles. There was irony in the situation, it seemed – for the pole in which Lucia had collapsed against gave home to a wolf skull, which seemed to almost sparkle in the morning light.

Her scent, once strongly of Inferni, had become drenched in the odour of blood, alcohol, and a strange male – wolf, for sure. It had occurred to Lucia that maybe it was her time to pass, that this was the way things were supposed to go – however, such a thought had just increased the Inferni Outsider’s ambitions. She had stumbled, and fallen, her way all the way to the borders of her clan, and though her face was swollen on one side, and her lip split in several places, she had not faired too bad after all.

Laying there, her shoulder torn open by her own blade, a gift from Daisuke, Lucia had not bothered to use that arm. Though now, as she felt herself beginning to lose consciousness, it seemed a perfect time to induce a little more pain into her system. Shifting her glassy, fragile gaze to her rucksack, which at the time, she had almost forgotten to retrieve, a small grimace stole her distended façade. It seemed so far away from her, as it had slipped from her aching fingers when she collapsed. Inhaling deeply, a snarl escaping from her frail maw as pain rattled her to the core, Lucia lifted her once almost-numb and bleeding arm.

A half-scream, half-growl shrieked into the empty silence of the borders. Lucia pushed herself forward, stretching out the dagger-violated arm toward the straps of her bag. Finally, after what seemed like minutes, she grabbed them and felt herself tumble back against the pole. “Fuck…” she wheezed to herself, her grip tightening around her chest, and the bag now resting in her lap. Glancing around, it was clear that soon enough she would slip into the world of unconscious nightmares – all she could see was his face, all she could hear was his rants. He was her nightmare, and as she went to retrieve a cigarette from the bag, her body just gave up. There was no warning, just a sharp rattle of pain, and those once fiery malachite coals rolled back into her skull. The obsidian female went limp, unconscious and in pain. Now she was a prisoner to Daisuke again, as the events that had just given her these wounds played over and over again in her mind.

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