05-18-2010, 11:25 AM
[html]
read only. mkhai encounters samael for the very first time. Within the moonlight the landscape took on a haunting appearance, filled with darkness and shadow that painted everything in thick, dark lines and monochrome shades. This place was utterly alien to Mkhai, but the night was a familiar friend, welcoming him with open arms and beckoning him into her close embrace. It protected him, shielding him from unwarranted, prying eyes and allowing him to melt right into the backdrop as though he didn’t even exist. He didn’t fear monsters or devils, for he was a prince of hell all on his own. If his body was destroyed he would return again before dawn—immortal and eternal as the sun and moon in the sky above. They’d been traveling for days, but the terrain had begun to melt into one long blur within his mind—indistinguishable and uninterested to the homesick young jackal. He didn’t wish to be here. He wished to be back home surrounded by lavish things and others of his kind, that knew his ways and understood his actions. The creatures here were unknown, and though he didn’t fear, he knew that he didn’t belong. He nearly stumbled across the creature, prone and nearly invisible in the shadows. Bathed in black with a pelt kissed by shadow, only the tell-tale gleam of an eye revealed life within the sea of darkness. Bristling, he stood as still as stone, waiting for movement. A breath exhaled into the cool night air before the thing moved, shifting only inches. The coppery stench of blood hung thick in the air, though the source didn’t seem to be fresh or profuse. Mkhai’s lips pulled back over his teeth, daring the beast to make any movement that he didn’t approve of, but he didn’t. He wondered if he was dying. Perhaps then the boy would receive a fresh meal that consisted of more than just small game. Sepirah had her serpent and Mkhai his knives, but a small group of fast-traveling jackals were not prime candidates for decent hunting. They could not waste food, nor could they afford to carry around large quantities of decaying flesh as they went. “Only a boy,” a serpentine voice hissed into the night, turning that single gleaming eye away from Mkhai. Bloodlust rose within his chest, longing to sink his claws and fangs into the creature that was in no position to brush him aside so easily over his short, youthful stature. He may be a child now, but he would grow—one day acquired a lean, muscled form that he would put to good use. Of course, the thought hadn’t yet occurred that he was facing a beast that didn’t care whether he lived or died. He saw only disrespect and his mane bristled, adding weight to his lanky form. “And who are you? A weak, pathetic man on the verge of death? I should finish you off and devour your heart,” he replied back, lifting his chin. “Go ahead,” he whispered, voice as soft as the wind passing through the barren branches above their heads. There was no rise to be gotten here, and Mkhai was disappointed. He fed off negativity—off fear and hatred and anger, yet here was only apathy. His hair fell back into place and his nose wrinkled, already bored. There was no point in killing someone that was already dead—there was no game or entertainment there. Footfall sounded behind Mkhai and he turned his head, watching the sleek form of his mother approach. He wondered what she’d make of this worthless beast, and whether or not she’d wish to sever his head. Blood was blood and flesh was flesh, to be devoured and used to further their existence. But she only slowed to a standstill beside him with a curious look gracing her delicate features. “Samael?” she called out cautiously, causing Mkhai’s gaze to immediately dart back toward the prone beast. He wouldn’t know his father’s scent, but surely his mother was mistaken in her eagerness to locate the hell beast they sought. There was no answer. Djeserit slunk forward, lowering her head as her eyes locked on the shadowy form. “What’s happened to you?” “Samael?” the creature said, voice alight as though with laughter as he shifted faintly, pushing his body slightly from the ground. “You are mistaken,” he said, the ghost of an amused expression lingering on his lips before fading back into nothingness. “Then you are a liar,” Djeserit responded, her voice cold and harsh. “I can see your scars and smell your stench from here. You are also injured. Did you bang your head and lose your mind?” she said, crossing the last of the distance between them. Mkhai remained silent, watching his mother as she confronted the stranger. “I came here to find you.” Then their task had been wasted, the hybrid boy mused to himself, if this was all that there was to find. If he was a demon he was a pathetic one. Mkhai housed the soul of a god, yet this creature bled and crawled as a prey animal before the kill. If this was their father, than it was a shame that his siblings remained back in the cave, laying on dirt and grass when they had once laid their heads in comfort. He was almost angry, for he longed for better. “Matanbuches is the only title that I know,” he said, his voice soft in the darkness, as though he were honestly contemplating her words—as though they stirred something sealed within him. “I have fallen, and my body decays as I reside within it,” he said, fixing blood-red eyes on Djeserit. “If you say that you know me, then it may be true.” He’d forgotten everything. If this was truly the creature his mother sought, then something had happened to him that’d robbed him of his consciousness. He was dying, and here alone in the forest he wouldn’t last long. Mkhai left them, uncaring what the end result would be for he realized that he didn’t feel anything for this creature. Let his mother deal with it. He didn’t want to have anything to do with either of them at the moment. |