show me your teeth

Sicarus de Ericeto · 01-11-2010, 07:34 PM

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Word Count: 624

In Character

Now that there were two Sicarus was no more frightened or afraid than he had been when he'd stalked Vieira, clearly the predator to the prey. The tawny-furred wolf was either stupid or he simply didn't care—likely a good mix of both. He'd fought with knives before and he knew the damage they could inflict, but to Sicarus there was no joy in carving up an enemy with a blade. You couldn't feel the blood bubbling over your fingers and claws, soaking through your fur; you couldn't touch the warmth of the other canine's very life as it ebbed from the victim's body. It was an empty art, necessary for protection where another enemy might carry a knife but useless where it came to actually experiencing the brutality of the kill.

His fist sailed toward the other canine's face, arcing through the air toward the other canine's face. The werewolf had a violent look on his face, an absolute joy brought about by this inflicting of pain on another living being—if there was one thing Sicarus thrived on, it was shedding blood. Without any other outlet for sex, Sicarus was left with just violence. It was just as satisfying and it did not leave him with that hollowed, disgusted feeling in his chest. After he'd raped that woman, there was only absolute, crushing, all-encompassing despair. He'd betrayed everything he held true about women—weak, worthless, useless. Perhaps it was good that he'd learned early; Sicarus would not make this same mistake again.

For one who was so unattracted to women, it would have almost made sense for Sicarus to be a homosexual—but as brotherly as he acted toward men, it had never even occurred to him that men could be a sexual object, too. He'd never experienced attraction to them, so even if he figured out this vital piece of the puzzle it was unlikely he'd ever even consider approaching another man. Sex was simply not a part of Sicarus's brain; some vital piece of him had been broken in his development and it was unlikely to ever heal. Sic did not consider himself wounded, but there was something very sick and twisted within the canine.

Searing pain ripped through the male's shoulder, and he cried out, a snarling sort of yowl that echoed up from his throat and exploded into the otherwise still night. The knife sliced upward across his chest and through the muscle of his shoulder, white-hot pain following the blade of the knife. The other canine had moved too quickly, completely throwing the werewolf's expectations—from the way Snake had stood there, Sicarus had expected him to remain still, taking the punch with the hopes of inflicting damage with the knife—but he had darted to the side of the punch and still managed to inflict damage to Sicarus. Staggering back and clutching at his damaged arm, the wolf let out a roaring sort of growl toward the other canine, blood dripping down his arm. The slice was not deep enough to cause serious damage to the man's muscles, but it hurt like bloody hell, and the werewolf found he had lost some mobility in that arm thanks to the pain.

Still, he charged forward again, taking a swing with his weaker fist, though this time his fingers were spread wide to slash—he wanted to smell the blood now, and a fist would not do the proper damage for this. Sicarus wanted to feel his claws gut this stranger coyote; he wanted to tear them both up now and leave them as a perfectly clear message for the leaders of Haku's enemies—the Dahlian wolves were strong, and they would not be beaten back so easily.

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