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Only those black ears responded to the roar that shuddered outside of the door. He did not pause what he was doing, giving a last few thrusts before he put her seed within her once more. As the door flew open, allowing the masked coyote to enter that place of shadows and sex and blood, the brute finally ceased to move although he did not withdraw. His head turned slightly to look upon the male, his fury like thick blood in the air. A sneer twitched upon the pied brute’s maw. He had not been expecting the appearance, but it did not matter. He knew that this day was coming—why not now? It would be fitting for this Onus creature to see the futility of his work, to see that darkness had succeeded in obtaining what it wished. It would be fitting for this Onus to see these things and learn that it was Darkness, not Justice, that had won that night. And then Corvus could kill him, leaving the carcass so that his dead eyes may watch still, and so that his daughter too would know what love and other useless emotions would do to her and to those to whom she sought to be attached. Fitting—the pied brute could hardly hope for better.
And the masked coyote was upon him, latching down like some parasite, that boiling rage touching his newly spilt blood. A sharp pain caused the Korean to stiffen—the wretched thing had clawed that old, deep wound. The brute’s breath caught as he snarled quietly. But the pain of the other wounds inflicted upon his holy self was disregarded. His body, save for that brief tension, was still, was almost relaxed as the force of the other simply pushed him against his daughter’s body and deeper within. Like the skin of a horse that has felt a fly, the brute’s skin twitched as those claws raked along his body, tearing his flesh. Where the pied Korean would have cared once where others placed their marks upon him, he cared very little now. He had taken the body of his matured daughter, and he had spread his seed within her. This shell that he now wore meant very little. Soon he would no longer require its uses. The cruel maw brushed against his daughter’s neck, dangerously close to were her life was. He would not kill her—not yet at least—but he could see how much Onus decided that he wanted her body.
He laughed then, that quiet, mirthless sound breathing upon her woad marked skin. “Have you grown a soft spot for her,” the tenor sneered, those silent undertones scorching the air with their gelidity, the cold brushing up against the fire of the one he dug the claws within him. “It’s too late for you—she’s mine. She’s always been mine.” There was a brief pause in which he took a sharp intake of breath—the damned coyote dug too deeply into his past. “Why don’t you just continue what you’re doing,” the sneering tenor continued, “and kill her with me?” Indeed, if the coyote did not withdraw, he would succeed only in harming his daughter. And whatever sick code of honor existed within the black Korean, he would not allow this mere coyote to harm that which would carry his seed. With that, the brute withdrew from Cwmfen’s body, releasing his grip upon her wrists as he let her fall unaided to the floor. Pushing off the wall, the brute gave himself enough room to reach behind and grab the coyote by the neck and collar, throwing him over his own body.