07-20-2010, 10:21 PM
You most definitely do not fail. Quite the opposite. (: 681 words.
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His heart was racing fiercely—bright life fighting between two very different faces of death. King knew that he had been partially foolish before, thinking that he was truly meaningful to Haku Soul—he was sure that, if he did not please the man, he would end up just as this broken and bleeding wolf was. He was totally sure—there was no shadow of doubt within his young mind anymore. And even as he asked he had a vague idea of what he was going to have to do, and it was because he was between the evil behind him and the dying creature before him. He was being shaped, forged like a weapon in flame. He could not argue. He knew that the second he sensed Haku dip his head closer to King, when the boy could feel the heat of his poison breath on the back of his neck. It took everything he had not to shake with fear. The fear was present—it was everything—but he did not allow himself to show it. That was weakness.
Oh, he could guess. He almost didn't have to—he knew. King's paws were placed uncomfortably in the sodden ground; he could feel the blood seeping up, staining his paws. There was no hope for the wolf before him; King knew that. He would die anyway, and with the weak cry he gave to the two that were watching, King realized this. It's him or me. No. It's him, or me and him. It was so simple when he thought about it like that. His life was already half-way gone; it would almost be mercy to take it away now, and King hoped it would please Haku Soul enough to let his son continue living.
It was so simple when he thought about it like that, but the thought of someone's life being severed between his teeth was something he could barely imagine. King had killed creatures before, sure, but nothing that could look at him with streaming eyes, something that could try to talk to him. He wondered what he would say, if it were anything more than that groan. But there was nothing. This wolf was pain, death, suffering, and weakness. He had to do it, or else he would die. It was simple as that—and as complex as that, as well.
In the end, King Chance told himself to not think. He told himself to be fast. And so he was—without any warning to himself, his father, or his victim, the young man moved forward. Inexperienced jaws locked on to where he believed it would be easiest and fastest to kill, his neck. Blood immediately seeped through the wounds, so hot and willing that it startled him, and with that sickly-sweet and coppery taste that made a darkness deep within him croon with victory. He was momentarily stunned by the failing life he had between his teeth, but he snapped out of it quickly enough. King twisted his head, muzzle immediately awash in the blood that boiled up from the wound. The blue-eyed boy withdrew from what he had done, eyes wide. The wolf's neck was now little more than... blood. He could barely laceration beneath it. A hideous sound rose from the torn throat before the wolf died, yellow eyes glazing over. King watched the life fade from them as the body grew still—even the oozing blood began to slow.
Now the boy could not help himself. Paws and mouth covered with the blood of the man he killed, he trembled—he wished he could forget whom was behind him, but the breath on his neck didn't allow him to forget. He wished what he did could make up for his reaction. For, as he was frightened, that was not all that he shivered from. As he had watched the wolf die, he realized that it was something he had done. He had held a life within his hand and crushed it. That was power.
A darkness within King Chance had liked it.