'Souls RPG

Full Version: [M] Kill your prayers for love and peace
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WARNING: This thread contains material exceeding the general board rating of PG-13. It may contain very strong language, drug usage, graphic violence, or graphic sexual content. Reader discretion is advised.

Specifically, this thread is marked mature because of: .
OOC: Backdated for July 15th if cool? Marked mature just in case.
Wild turkeys in Nova Scotia? I would think they'd do okay for themselves without humans about, no? I can change my post if this is unrealistic.

IC:

Light, fluffy behemoths crowded the sky, concealing the brilliant blue backdrop with shades of silver. The sun protested silently, forcing its warming rays through the scars and orifices of the clouds, but was ultimately pushed back and hidden leaving behind a world of muted light. Stagnant, humid air settled upon everything, leaving behind a sheen of moisture. The atmosphere itself felt unsettled and Milos couldn't help but wonder when the storm would hit.

Padding quietly through the forest, the bi-colored wolfdog panted uncomfortably as he searched for his next quarry. In the leather pack around his shoulder were two small, young rabbits - barely a meal for himself - and a fat squirrel. This wouldn't last them long and Milos knew it. He hoped that Sorcha was having better luck, though she had a knack for loud exclamations of triumph when she caught something worthwhile and he hadn't heard her since they set out separately some time ago. Looking up doubtfully at the clouds, he estimated they had a couple more hours yet before they were supposed to meet back at camp. Plenty of time, he hoped, for either of them to catch something of substance.

Pausing abruptly, black nose twitching in the air, Milos gazed out from around a formidable tree and caught sight of a magnificent wild turkey. He blinked several times to make sure he wasn't just imagining it. The last time he'd seen a wild turkey was before he made it into 'Souls; they were either really wily or hadn't proliferated as well as they had around Viburnum. Dagger in hand, the wolfdog stalked the avian as silently as he could, stopping frequently whenever it jerked its head or made a noise. This would put anything Sorcha caught to shame... if he could catch it.
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Wild turkeys are good! And sorry for replying to right away, am doing some Messy posts anyway. >:3 Also lemme know if this is okay. :D


The land was heavy with moisture, and even Messiah's rapid panting did little to cool him off from the warm heaviness of the day. He wandered on his trek southward, wobbling to and fro through the trees and seeking shade where he could -- though really, all the heat was already on the ground, the sun an innocent bystander behind the thick cloud cover. Eventually, the small coyote just began splashing through streams and rolling around in mud (and stuff he thought was mud but wasn't probably really mud) until he was a brown, stinking mess. The last traces of his clan scent more or less disappeared under the muck, and he looked like an oversized, drenched fox rather than a coyote soldier. His prance, though, was proud if sluggish.


Panting in the muggy weather, he prayed for rain -- and for food. A lot of animals had gone to ground in anticipation of the storm, or else he was having rotten luck despite his inadvertently disguised scent. Hungry and bad-tempered, he wandered still until he saw the fattest biggest bird in his entire life just sitting ahead of him.


Messiah yapped joy and rushed it.


A larger wolf's attack might have sent the animal fleeing and flapping, but the turkey only whirled on the tiny coyote and rushed right back at him, gobbling ferociously and pecking and beating at the runt with its wings. Scratches caught his muzzle and face, mostly protected by the layer of mud, and only a lot of screaming and yowling detered the animal at last. It landed, strutted a couple yards, then flew away -- while Messiah cussed up a storm and whirled around in the grass, shouting insults after the big fat thing.



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OOC: No, no, this is perfect!

IC:

Blinking in utter surprise, Milos took a step back and watched in wonder as a mucky mess of... something charged out of the woods in an effort to catch the turkey. Amusement overcame annoyance as the canine - he could see that now - fought the fowl only to have the avian turn and get the better him. Mud and feathers lifted into the air as the pair quarreled but the battle was over almost as soon as it began and Milos watched sadly as his would-be prize took to the air, up and away from harm. He placed his dagger back in his leather pack and sighed.

Turning back to the mud-crusted canine, concern touching vibrant orange eyes, the bi-colored wolfdog padded hastily towards Messiah.
"That was some turkey, huh?" He said amicably as he approached, holding his hands up to show he wasn't intending to cause any harm. "You all right? Didn't hurtcha, did it?"

Milos knew little about medicinal herbs or healing, but he had a grasp of the basics. He needed that much at least back at the plantation, when injury was commonplace and the overseers cared less for the slaves' well-being than for that of the livestock. They had to fend for themselves more often than not, including being their own medics.
Looking at the mysterious canine now closer, he could see he was something smaller - dog? Coyote, maybe? His large, pointed ears and narrow muzzle made Milos lean more towards coyote but he knew the likelihood he was a mix of something. In any case, he was definitely canine, what type didn't matter too much to the wolfdog. What he was curious about was why he was covered in what appeared to be mud but smelled like a matter of different substances. Did it help to keep him cool? Was he in some sort of danger and needed to conceal his scent? The possibilities were endless and only this canine before him could tell him for certain.
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So intent on his prey, Messiah did not notice the wolf -- but as the other approached, tall in Optime and dark, he froze and pressed closer to the ground, bristling (or would bristle if not so caked in mud) and flattening his ears defensively. His teeth bared, sharp and white with age, until the other spoke to him and raised hands in a gesture of peace.


The little Lupus coyote frowned -- then grinned, ears popping up and lips pulled wide. Ah, I'm okay! he chirped. It was a hell of a bird. He doubted the wolf would be so friendly if he'd caught it -- probably would've stolen it from him since he was bigger. That was what wolves did, after all. Stole from the less fortunate -- a sin.


Uhh, hold on, he added, and shifted -- though kept his eyes focused on the other during every minute of the process, knowing he was vulnerable. Being attacked, though -- well, the other would be hunted down and killed, that was for sure. Messiah would be a martyr, then. He grinned as the process completed -- and was pleased to find the wolf not too much taller than him, only around half a foot. He scratched under his chin and wagged his tail, glancing briefly down at a coat that showed patches of ginger, now, where the mud fell away in the process.


What are you doing around here? Messiah asked. You know, he added, grinning, it's dangerous.



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Shifting was such a natural, integral part of being a Luperci and yet Milos couldn't help but look away as the muddied canine went through the process. White-tipped ears funneled in the sounds of dirt and earth breaking off the canine's fur and hitting the grass beneath him and looked up only when the soft pattering stopped. He couldn't be sure why, but it made him feel uncomfortable and embarrassed when others shifted in front of him. It was silly, he knew, but the process felt so personal and private and those were the types of things that he felt were only to be shared with those who were close and familial. Not with perfect strangers. Still, he turned his orange eyes to meet Messiah's and nodded to him all the same.

He looked much different now, and not just because he'd gone from quadrupedal to bipedal in a couple short moments. Milos could make out strands of ginger and tan now from underneath the patches of broken mud. He grinned somewhat sheepishly at Messiah's question and shrugged.
"S'pose so. Could be dangerous anywhere, though." He said with a smile. "Guess sometimes to stay alive ya gotta put yourself in danger first." He added, "My companion isn't too far, in any case." In all honesty, he didn't know where Sorcha was but hoped that she had remained at least relatively close. Because while it was true that dangers could lurk anywhere, the likelihood of falling to victim to something was greater when you were alone.

Studying the coyote a little closer now, Milos had the impression Messiah was scrawny and underweight. But there was a certain fortitude to his structure and tenacity to his eyes that the wolfdog didn't miss.
"Name's Milos, by the way. You from 'round here?" He asked, narrowing his eyes at the mud clinging to clumps of fur. He was holding his curiosity at bay, but longed to know why the canine was covered in mud. It was odd. He'd never known a canine, Luperci or otherwise, to cover themselves in mud to stay cool. And he didn't seem harried or anxious, like one would expect if he were being pursued and needed the earth to conceal his scent. But what did he know, really? In this new land, Milos knew little about the different cultures and customs that were native here. He supposed that this could be normal for him and his pack.
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Messiah nodded and smiled again -- too-quick, too-friendly -- at the other's musings. I guess it's always dangerous, depending on who you are, he said, lifting his brows under a thin crust of mud. Like coyotes, for instance, kicked around and killed and abused for being smaller and weaker -- or wolves in the presence of a coyote soldier. He didn't really like the rest of what the black wolf was saying, though -- about staying alive or a companion.


I wish I had a companion here, Messiah said, and became more transparent in what he was hinting at. I'm the one who needs protected.


He stared as the other gave his name -- Milos -- and clasped his hands together. I'm from north. Burnt Church Mountains. He decided to make up a quick lie, just for the sake of the game -- though he wasn't as steady and great with his words as Stigmata was. I had to come down here because all of the sinners -- the murderers -- but it looks like there are some all around here, too! He threw up his hands in despair and gave Milos a look caught between worry, pleading, and even amusement.



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Frowning, Milos felt taut tendrils of uneasiness creep faintly into his stomach, clenching and releasing in equal turns. But it was a dim feeling, like a color you couldn't quite make out, and presently the bi-colored wolfdog shrugged it off. All of Milos' past adversaries had been so obvious, so very unmistakeable, and this thin, mud-crusted coyote looked about as threatening as a cat compared to them. Maybe it was the unorthodox content of the stranger's words that set him on edge, as if there was a deeper meaning underneath the upper layers of speech. But, the wolfdog postulated, perhaps the coyote's fear was preventing him from saying more. After all, he mentioned needing protection and Milos understood very well the necessity for safety.

Nodding to the tawny coyote, Milos said, "Protection? My friend, Sorcha, an' me, we might be able to help ya out. Safety in numbers, as they say."
He and Sorcha had been in 'Souls for only a handful of days and had met a number of interesting individuals and none of them had trusted the two of them immediately. Not that he blamed them, but he wouldn't be disappointed or offended if this coyote refused his offer. And a small, distant part of him - that instinctual part that was nagging at his psyche - hoped that he wouldn't accept it. But it was just a fleeting thought, hardly more than a flicker that was quickly replaced with guilt for abandoning his promise. The promise he'd made to Chaska, after his death, to help those who needed help.

"Didn't catch your name. What are you called?" Milos asked after realizing he didn't know the stranger's name. He furrowed his brows when another thought made him ask, "And what do you mean, 'murderers?' Is someone tracking you?" He scarcely heard the word "sinner," honing in on the word more immediately dangerous and hoping again that Sorcha was nearby. If someone - or a group of someones - was following this stranger, he'd need her with him quickly.
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*flails because this post is all over the place* ;_______; ugh.


Perhaps Messiah had laid it on too thick -- but he wasn't a master manipulator when he wanted to be. Twisting words and praises to break people down was involuntary -- but trying to be as intimidating as he thought he should be was pretty difficult for a tiny, muddy coyote. He wasn't quite sure whether to play the knowledgable coyote loner or the frightened young male looking for a safer place to stay, and wavered between these things.


I guess it's safer in numbers, he conceded -- but did not accept the offer, which would go against the whole point of staying safe! Silly wolf.


At long last, the implications of his hurried speech were picked up on, and he spread his hands again with a small shrug of thin shoulders. Oh -- I'm Messiah, he said, grinning with all his sharp teeth, still white with his young age, if barely. Then he pointed directly up the wolfdog's nose, childish and giddy at this game. Just because he was a soldier didn't mean he couldn't have fun every once in a while. He was bored, and he thought that maybe craziness would add a layer of mystery and fright on his usual routine. He wanted to be remembered, after all -- a hero like his relative Hybrid. And you don't know? How many wolves murder coyotes?


He frowned. Wolves like you? he added. Maybe you're the sinner and you don't know it.



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OOC: No, it was great! It lead to this crazy over-reaction in any case xD Feel free to bust him up a little; nothing permanently damaging, but otherwise have at it!

IC:

Jerking his head back, away from the pale index finger pointed directly at his nose, Milos shuddered inwardly at Messiah's white, toothy grin and felt himself swallow hard. Bad. The wolfdog suddenly remembered his earlier feelings of unease and his pulse quickened. Wrong. Every beat of anxious blood coursing within his body reinforced his new-found concerns. Danger. A wave of cold, raw fear washed from head to toe, leaving behind nothing but a dry mouth and wide orange eyes.

Messiah was talking again but his words made no sense. He hadn't done anything to any coyotes, let alone murdered any. In fact, Milos knew little about coyotes and provided them with about as much attention as he would to a fox. He had never had memorable interactions with the species, good or bad. So he shook his head, eyes still locked on Messiah's odd own.
"No. Don't know any wolves who'd murder coyotes." He replied, but the coyote continued on and Milos could feel another wave of something - fear or, quite possibly, remorse - wash down his body, leaving icy fern frost behind to grip his heart and lungs mercilessly. And as he stood frozen, unable even to breathe, a thought was crawling towards Milos' consciousness. Not just a thought, a reminder. A memory. Sucking in a short gasp of sharp breath, Milos thought, 'I am a murderer. I am a sinner.'

Suddenly, it didn't matter that his victims weren't coyotes. Messiah could have accused him of murdering a finch and the revelation would have struck him with the same brutality. All that mattered was that he had taken not one, but two, lives. Two sentient lives; one he loved with the deepest recesses of his heart, one he hated from the bowels of his gut. They had become the same, somehow, in death; they left him with equal amounts of remorse.
A vocalization escaped from Milos' throat, something pained and clipped short - like a grunt or the beginnings of a scream - before he took a step back from Messiah and tried to compose himself.
"Leave me alone." He managed with a snarl, orange eyes blazing but sad. "Go away. Get away from me."

He wasn't thinking properly. He had a dagger in his pouch but he wasn't thinking about anything except death and Messiah. The coyote's yellow-and-brown eyes seemed to be replaying his murders, one death in each crazed socket, and Milos had to finally look away and take another step back. There was a knotting of tree root rising up from the earth like the section of neck from a mystical beast and as the wolfdog's foot bumped up against it, he found he could not keep his balance.
Down. He was falling down and he couldn't even make his limbs work fast enough to help him break his fall. So he landed hard, body flopping uselessly upon the green earth while his head struck the dirt with enough force to daze him. For a quiet, blissful moment, all was peaceful and nice. No fear. No regret. No pain. But just as quickly, everything came flooding back and as Milos' eyes adjusted to his new surroundings on the ground at Messiah's feet, he was gripped again with terror but winded enough from his fall to be rendered momentarily mute.
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omg i love your posts and your characters and am glad to have these emotional threads with you!! Btw -- being purposefully vague with injuries so you can choose what happens to him, and I don't mind if Sorcha literally rips Messiah off him and throws him or something. <3


Messiah spat mocking laughter at the wolf's face when he didn't know coyote-killers. All wolves were the same -- either murderers or those that would become one. They called coyotes scavengers, ripped them up to take their food, plucked babies from their mothers' teats and devoured them, the unclean little beasts. That was what wolves did. Inferni would not have existed if wolves liked coyotes or saw them as equals. This loner was ignorant -- or a liar.


Then the creature flinched, snarled. Messiah jumped but grinned more wickedly. I'm right, I'm right, you sinner! he yowled.


The other stumbled back, tripped. Landed -- prone. You'll be forgiven, the soldier said, grinning in warped, toothy mimicry of his preacher brother's sympathetic smiles. I am your savior. You just need to pay in blood.


He aimed a kick between the wolf's legs, then fell down onto him, sinking in claws and aiming teeth at the other's face.



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OOC: D'awww! Thank you! I hope I don't seem too "wahwahfeelsorryforme" in my posts xD BTW, I just can't get over Messiah. He just seems like such a great character to play :D Let me know if anything needs changing.

IC:

You'll be forgiven said the coyote with a twisted grin. All Milos could focus on was "forgiveness." What did forgiveness feel like? Would he truly be? Forgiven? Chaska had encouraged him to end his life, Ulick had fought with him before he took his. But regardless, both canines had ended up the same: dead. Did forgiveness equal death? Was this coyote - Messiah - destined to kill him?

Shaking, the bi-colored wolfdog gnashed his teeth, clouds of foam beginning to foam at the corners of his mouth while his orange eyes gazed wildly at the mud-coated coyote. Milos wasn't prepared to die. Chaska may have been, but there were still things the black-and-white wolfdog needed to - wanted to - do.

The strike to Milos' nether regions caused the wolfdog to gasp inwards, filling his originally devoid lungs with fresh air, before letting it out again in a pained howling yelp. The cry echoed long and wide, filling the atmosphere with horrid, bestial sounds until a different sort of pain zoned in at his shoulder. The attack on his gonads had sent Milos jutting forward, drawing Messiah's teeth from his face to his shoulder, where the coyote's sharp canines connected with soft, muscly flesh. The pain of the attack was dulled from the adrenalin but the reality was still front and center in Milos' mind: attack, pain, danger, escape. Struggling under the weight of the coyote, the wolfdog snapped and snarled, releasing forth cries of alarm and help.

From somewhere not too far away, a silver wolf had been patiently stalking an unsuspecting squirrel. A single, rounded ear twitched before a feminine head lifted abruptly and twisted towards the location of a nearby cry. It sounded familiar - too familiar - and presently, almost reluctantly, she abandoned her hunt to focus on the sound. Again, this time more pronounced and clear, and Sorcha dashed forward with a snarl.
As unfortunate as it was, she knew that cry almost intimately, the realization of which made her feel cold with fear. Crashing through thickets and brush, Sorcha tumbled into the clearing where a coyote was dominating her companion, and produced a deep, threatening growl.

Unable to contain herself, the larger wolf launched at the coyote with a bark, snapping and snarling in an attempt to connect tooth with flesh. It didn't matter much to her if she killed the bastard, so long as her friend was out of harm's way.
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your post are perfect and don't let anyone tell ya different :D I will edit if Sorcha is in a different form.



See galleries for credit.

This was Messiah's purpose. He and his siblings had been set on this earth to make it safe for coyotes. Stigmata preached, warned of dangers, converted with love and the word. Nephilim, too, had served a purpose -- as worthless as he was -- by rallying the coyotes in defense of his mangy body. And Messiah -- Messiah would save the world.


An eager whelp from youth, raised on wolf blood and grand stories, the de le Poer had warped into a child soldier with a singular purpose -- fueled still with the enthusiasm of his puppyhood. He had been knocked down and he would be knocked down again, but through these trials, he would become stronger. He would. He was destined for great things.


He leaped at the wolf to free him of his sin.


Blood, saliva, and mud matted black fur as Messiah sank his teeth into flesh, ears pinned flat to avoid damage and eyes intent upon his prey. He hooked claws the best he could into the other, grasping and scratching, sometimes attempting to ward off Milos' thrashing, crying counterattacks. The defense was pathetic to the Massacre warrior, who drooled blood onto the other's face and bit down again.


Then teeth set like fire into his side, and his victorious snarls became a high-pitched yelp.


Filth! Messiah shrieked, and abandoned Milos to whirl upon his companion, a grey she-wolf. His own blood mingled with the pathetic loner's, and his side ached -- but he pinned ears again and slashed at the woman, never mind that he was smaller, weaker. Wolves run in packs because they're too weak to be alone! He yowled and aimed to kick, bite. His voice was a squeak between effortful lunges. Wolf bitch! Wolf filth!



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OOC: <3
Wanna wrap up or keep going onwards? c: Oh! And hover over Sorcha's text for a translation if needed.

IC:

Fire was erupting out of him, the blood oozing from the opening in his shoulder was like lava. Anxiety stirred in his bowels and made his nerves buzz uncomfortably from within his body like a small earthquake. At any moment, Milos was sure, the volcano of aggressive terror and grief would explode in the same way it had when he had killed Ulick. And he would have snuffed out another life. But was that so bad? Was Messiah so bad? Had Ulick been so bad?
Yes.
The answer was instantaneous and hardened the wolfdog's heart painfully, anger replacing grief. Hard labor, prostitution, abuse, humiliation, rape. What was good in that? Nothing. Nothing. He had done the world a favor in killing such a beast. Hadn't he?

Milos tried to explain such to Messiah, to appeal to the coyote pitifully, but he couldn't make his voice work. A couple of cracking, croaking groans surfaced but could form no words, no emotion. As if in answer, the muddied coyote sank sharp scythe-like teeth back into his mutilated flesh and drew more of his sanguine lifeblood from the wound. Imagined smoke seemed to be drifting from his body. The volcano was going to erupt. It was going to erupt and flow forth the bright blood of his enemies and he wouldn't be able to stop himself and then he would become precisely what Messiah was condemning him for.

But something happened. The coyote's weight was gone from him and an annoying yelp was ringing in the wolfdog's sensitive ears. Milos screwed his eyes shut at the pitch and seemed to effectively blot out all feeling and sound. Orange eyes reopened slowly from behind dark lids. The sky above him, shielded partially by a green canopy, welcomed him back lovingly. For several seconds, Milos didn't breathe - not because he couldn't, but because he didn't want the feeling of ultimate peace to flee from him. It was perfect. He felt nothing but calm, saw nothing but sky, heard nothing but silence.
But the experience was fleeting, dashed away with a throb of pain from his shoulder. All at once, hostile growls, combative yowls, and the odor of adrenaline assaulted Milos' senses and his fragile peace was shattered bitterly. Raising himself slowly to a sit, a clumsy hand gripping his bloodied shoulder tenderly, Milos quickly understood the reason for his sudden respite.

Fur bristling outrageously from every follicle in her body, Sorcha stood face-to-face with the deranged-looking coyote. She'd broken away from him moments before, hardly even realizing that her attack had been fruitful, and stood with curled lips and blazing eyes. She'd dodged his slash as best she could but felt a burning pain welling up across her ribs, blood oozing slowly out of superficial scratches. She ignored it, ears popping forward as he spoke. Not anticipating his sudden attack, she felt his foot connect with her shin but managed to avoid his bite. She roared a snarl, one side of her maw turning upwards in a smirk, and shook the pain out of her leg.
"Whey aye, ye daft tormit! A welf's a canny fella, boot lookit ye. Whey, yer nobbut femmer, poor body!"
Brown eyes glanced briefly at Milos, noticed he was okay by and large, and began to position herself nearer to him. Sorcha snapped tentatively at Messiah again, falling intentionally short in an attempt to set him on edge and make him jump away. The sounds coming form deep within her throat made her heart vibrate. "Hadaway wi' ye noo, ye greet sackless cuddy!"

From nearby, the black-and-white wolfdog had risen himself to his feet, his right hand still gently grasping the red wound at his shoulder, watching the exchange take place. A thought probed his mind that he should probably help translate Sorcha's thick speech, but he didn't care to. Though his mind had begun to clear and the threatening volcano dormant once more, Milos just wanted to be away from this place.
"We already paid in blood, both of us, and for a long time. Best if you moved on, Messiah. En't nothin' else here for you." He said, his voice rough and tired.
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OMG loved your post. Sorry for the wait! D: I'd say we can wrap up here; Messy is a very sore loser.

See galleries for credit.

All he tried to do was the right thing. He'd been conditioned from birth for this -- but fate just as often seemed to have other plans for him. Self-loathing twisted his insides into fear and hatred and pain, and it seethed out again between bared teeth in curses at the wolves. The wolves were the real sinners, anyway -- Milos had admitted so. Maybe he'd killed a lot of coyote babies, and only now justice would be served.

The big ugly she-wolf hollered nonsense back at him, speaking in tongues or something. Maybe she was possessed by the demon blood that ran in all wolves' veins -- he didn't know. He only bared his teeth and flattened his ears, his snarl high-pitched and vibrato, and jumped back when she lunged to snap at him.

Part of him wanted to launch himself at her again, tackle into her midsection and pull ropes of intestines from her belly, even if she cut his throat and he bled in the attempt. Messiah was fully aware his death would be that of a martyr, a coyote murdered by a wolf after attacking another in self-defense -- but he wasn't ready to die, not yet. In the silence between her snap and Milos' speech, Messiah gasped for breath, small chest heaving, and considered his next action, whether it be suicide or escape.

The dark wolf's husky, weary suggestion made Messiah spit at him, a glob of blood that could have belonged to either one of them. But he stepped back again, tail lank, muddy body tense before he flashed teeth one last time -- then turned and ran.

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