WARNING: This thread contains material exceeding the general board rating of PG-13. It may contain graphic violence or sexual content. Reader discretion is advised.
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A rogue mood had stolen him, and lingered in him like a fire. The woman, Isabella, had lit it, and although that day she had sought to quench it, it lingered still beneath his skin, fueling the monarch with restlessness.
Luna had barely recovered from her incident with the stone inside her hoof, but the king could not stand to remain trapped within a radius of Salsola any longer. From his wooden chest he took a recent acquisition - A bottle of fine red wine, made potent by the passage of time. The bottle itself had long since lost any labels to mark its brand or name, retaining only its murky green glassy hue - The liquid within, a vibrant and bloody red, splashed purple against the sides of the container as he rode.
He had gathered the silver mare, and not even bothered to place reigns in her mouth. The monarch was feeling the need to be challenged, and he figured it was time he rode like Ezekiel could, with little more than hand and foot to guide his steed. Ezekiel; Gabrielson. He had never had a more frustrating, or challenging, rival. A strange, slow smile spread about the wicked man's maw, peeling his black lips back from glittering yellow teeth. Even though night was beginning to fall, he directed his steed towards the borders of Inferni, and rode hard.
The mare was ghostly pale, her silvery pelt dyed bloody by the setting sun, and then glowing as the moon rose to take its place. His eyes, Hunter's eyes, saw almost as clearly during the night as he did in the day - His mare was a herding day animal, though, and the falling darkness along with the reckless pace and the strangeness of her master made her fidgety and nervous.
An ocean breeze lifted the hair on his nape as the monarch rode nearer to the bay, guiding Luna with the pressure of his muscular thighs. They cantered through the forest and out along the hardy grasses the bordered the sandy, rocky beach, a beam of moonlight and her dark, dangerous rider. Somewhere along the way he hooked one wicked claw into the bottle's cord, and pulled it free with a BANG that echoed through the cool night air and spooked his silver mare.
Finally, the male drew near enough to Infernian borders. Bold and brass though he was, Sirius was not a fool - He would not enter that domain unless necessary, unless prepared. If Inferni was as deadly as his own territory, which he did not doubt, then it would be madness to do otherwise.
Rather than dismount, the man sniffed at the air, and caught a familiar scent there. It was dominant and powerful, but mixed with two other sins - Liquor and smoke. So it would seem that his rival had also taken near to the beach beyond his territory? How delightful. Kicking his heels into Luna's sides, he urged her forward, venomous eyes seeking the golden form of the raven king. "Ezeeeeekiel…" Came the low call, his sensual tone not wishing to draw the attention of any other who might linger near to the ocean and it's roaring waves. "Come out, come out, wherever you are…"
He had not intended to react in such a manner, but he was a creature of fire and had no control over the internal whims of a lion anymore than he could pull the moon from the sky. It had been an accident. A single, stupid accident and his world had crumbled. This was perhaps inevitable; his constructed walls rested on unstable ground and were subject to a swamp of emotions that had been bottled up for months now. When the stone collapsed, he was left raw and alone. This too, did not surprise him. Who could he turn to now? A woman that wanted his blood, another who never challenged him, and those lesser beings that came in and out of his life yet like shades.
All it had taken was seeing her face and his world had been set aflame.
Ezekiel did not remember where he had found the vodka. Perhaps her home, when he had gone there out of desperation. She had been a terrible drunk for so many years, and even now, he did not understand why. The clear fire-water did not make him feel better; it only filled his head with red fog and stole control from his body.
Being drunk, as he was now, was not entirely foreign to Ezekiel but he had spurned such things for so long that his tolerance collapsed with the same speed of the castle. He had traveled far west, carrying the painting, carrying the bottle. No weapons joined him, only the bag, because he had been smoking since he had first knocked over the image and seen the ghosts of what once had been.
So in his madness, this thing caused by poison and smoke, he did not think of repercussions. He thought only of his fury, his sorrow, the grief he had not faced. Gabriel had been faced with a hurt, but recognizable, loss. She…no she had stabbed him in the back and dug into his back, as if this might one day open a path to his soul. He had killed for her. He had thrown away everything he had once had to please her.
He used the vodka to start the fire, and he had watched it burn with hate in his heart. They faded into flame, a boy now lost to this beast, and a girl who had chosen to flee from the only person who loved her. Had she but asked, he would have gone with her. It was a devotion unworthy of all others. Ezekiel might have, if she had asked, crossed a line even he did not realize was fading between them. Her eyes burned and he felt an uncomfortable heat in his loins. Did he really think of her in such a way? Perhaps. Who else could he have? The women of Inferni were nothing like the crimson siren who alone had been able to ease the torment within him, even if she was at its heart. She was the eye of the hurricane and as long as they were together, the rest of the world could be destroyed.
He took another swig of the burning liquid and grimaced, lips pulling away from yellowing teeth. For as intoxicated as he was, a peculiar amount of physical control remained—he was certain of his body, if not his emotions, his mind. So when the voice rose, slow and deep over the tide, he bristled visibly. The Hunter, the dark hybrid who so challenged his right to rule, approached. Ezekiel turned to face him, naked in the moonlight, and showed his teeth in a mask somewhere between a smile and a snarl.
“Come, Lord of Thistles, come and greet me as you should!” He called into the night, and laughed. It was a raven’s voice, a hysterical and raw sound that did not belong to him. The smoking had aided in turning his voice raw over the years, but it was doubled now by the amount he had consumed tonight. He laughed because this false royalty was all they were; savages and primitive men donning crowns and titles when they were nothing.
The cry of the man echoed after his own, in a voice tantalisingly familiar. Sirius knew the sound of a man shedding his inhibitions – He had done so himself, often enough in his youth. However, a strange shiver ran up and down his spine, almost like anticipation.
It was the glow of the fire he saw first, then the outline of the man before it, and even in his stupor Ezekiel was a brilliant sight – The flames caught in his pelt and spun them like gold, twisting the melting hues together until the man burned as bright as the fever in his eyes. Sirius had always been a fanatical lover of beauty, and though he would never admit such a thing, the sight of his un-foe not-ally in such a state was enough to send electricity pulsing through his veins.
The wine bottle sloshed in his hand, its fragrance far preferable to the inferior poison that the son of Gabriel held. The Revlis man was well acquainted with the spirits of these drinks, and handled them far fairer than his polar king. Although he had already devoured half a bottle, the wicked brilliant of his mind was merely dulled, not clouded nor warped as Ezekiel’s was. Twisted, though, that was another thing – An inherent thing. His father had been the twisted prince of all, and his madness showed in glimpses within the dark and brooding portrait of the Thistle King.
Ezekiel’s raucous laughter made the hair on his nape stand erect, and the man’s yellow teeth glittered in response to the snarl-smile he was given. Although perhaps foes, each man knew the other far better than they might have wished; they were cut from the same thread, moulded from the same cruel clay, each a beast parading as a king. The primal forces within them would always battle for supremacy, but perhaps, dulled by liquor and hard emotion, testosterone-fuelled aggression could be swapped for something more preferable.
The darker man dismounted smoothly, the muscles of his thighs and back rippling with the motion. He was built taller than the other, but leaner; If it came to close combat there was little double that the bulkier, heavier musculature of Ezekiel would prove victorious. But each had their own strength – In the hunt and the long chase, Sirius and many other devotees professed his self unbeatable. The Warrior and the Hunter, that was what they were. That was what they always would be.
”You burn brightly tonight, brother,” The word of affection was a bit, a jest – They both knew that while they shared no blood, the men were too similar in traits not to consider the other’s monster kin. ”Has your father’s crown finally become too heavy? I could take it from you, if only to ease your burden,” The serpent grinned widely, his sharp teeth flickering ivory in the flame-light, before approaching. If Ezekiel had wanted to kill him, Sirius did not doubt that one of them would already be dead. But he walked cautiously, regardless, one eye constantly on the other even as he neared the warmth of the fire.
The silver mare melted back into the brush, but he would be able to call her with a whistle, if necessary. Fingers fondled the dagger at his thigh, before lifting the bottle of wine to his lips for a quick swig. Narrowed pupils took in the other man’s poison and glittered in distaste. ”If you wish to dance with devils, then the least you can do is enjoy it,” He remarked dryly, before tossing the bottle of his own blood-red concoction to the Aquila.
Metal shifted and turned in the firelight, gold and bronze thrown over a form cut from hard earth and deep forests. Old stories had taught him of beasts within, of cannibal ghosts and mad-eyed things that came with little warning. His own demon was no different, but the deer had not risen even as Ezekiel walked on the grave of the dead man. Perhaps the portrait had formed a ward. Perhaps he was too drunk to notice. Perhaps he had imagined the whole thing since the beginning, as he often suspected.
Amber eyes gazed over the lanky hybrid and his horse. Of the two, she was prettier; but Ezekiel was not a man who understood beauty and likened it to things peculiar. A white horse was odd to him. Sirius was not so unfamiliar compared to such a thing…though he was a specimen of his own, a true contender against his own rule. Oh if they had been within the same clan, what wonder might have that made? Sirius was too arrogant to bow and Ezekiel too ferocious to submit; they would have destroyed each other.
Yet he watched with the same methodical precision of a fighter, seeing the strength in that lean form, knowing far too well that even a skinny thing like the Thistle King would be a contender in combat. Like a deer, he thought, recalling the stubby tail, and almost laughed again. Instead he swallowed more of the clear liquid and smiled savagely, teeth dripping with the poisoned water.
Brother. He had no brothers, only half-siblings that meant nothing and saw no worth in their lives here. Tools. All of those who followed him would be molded into the ideal flame he sought to bring to Inferni, to make a bonfire great and powerful enough to scorch the world if he so chose. Ezekiel snorted bullishly at the darker man, and shook his head. He caught the bottle well enough; his reflexes were instinctive and would have been able to contend with combat if it came.
“And what do you know of devils, Sirius?” the Aquila drawled, sniffing at the bottle. He swallowed the sweet tasting thing with great thirst, but found it was not half so potent as he might have liked. One hand reached and extended the bottle back to his more civilized “brother”, eyes gleaming and glazed. “I can tell you the names of the Lords of Hell, of their Marshalls. You should learn them. I have heard tale of your witch-women,” from the mouth of their mother, no less. Eris had once lived among them, after all. The birds, too, had seen things…he did not know what was said, only that there had been deeds, and blood, and bodies of men used for ritual in ways he did not understand. “, and you play with fire, brother.” He smiled again, as if the term was amusing to him.
Suddenly, above the fire, Zeke caught a stronger scent that had all but left the darkened pelt of the man across from him. It was a musk and a woman, a potent thing that spoke of breeding. Now, he did laugh—and it was mocking this time. “Oh my brother, you should be careful. Women give birth to demons.” The first wife had, long before she had been sent east of Eden. Ezekiel knew this as truth; Lilith had begat the first of the worldly things, long after an angel fell to earth and formed his kingdom without the presence of God to light the way.
There was a madness in the other man's eyes, a glittering wildness that hinted his foe had been, at least partially, unhinged by the poison he drank. Instability was a weakness that Sirius could use, as the serpent had become master at using all poisons. His wars were waged in the mind, not in the blood, as were those of the golden eagle and his raven brethren. There was silver in his blood, coursing as strongly as the molten gold within Ezekiel's, and yet unlike that boiling sunset hue it was cold to the touch - Deathly cold.
They wore cloaks of danger, begot by the old wicked ones who had formed earth and men and mates with these two protégé in mind. Both were the peak of their own kind; The highest forms of bloodlines that ran thick and thin with madness and genius alike. Ezekiel was made, as his father had been made: A creature of war, a dark paladin that sought to burn impurity within all things beyond its own impure self. Sirius was of a different breed: Those who crept in the night-time corners, a flash of eyes and sharp fangs and cold, bleaching bones. Perhaps there was a cowardliness to his blood that made him hide his beast in darkness, in arrogance and pride - But regardless, danger and death welcomed the two men each as sons, as brothers.
He took back the bottle when it was offered, wickedly curved claws brushing those of the other man before the green glass was raised to quench an insatiable thirst. Narrowed pupils watched the ranting angel closely, seeing for the first time how mortal dirt had begun to erode him. Ezekiel was not so pure as he had thought; Nor so sane.
Such wicked thoughts were distracted by the mention of hellions, of the plague which Sirius currently faced. His black lips twitched to show those insidious daggers, revealing for a precious moment how tender such a subject was, before sheathing those weapons away beneath a smoldering glance of nonchalance. "I fear no demons but my own," Came the tart reply, as the slender man eyed his stockier companion narrowly. Ezekiel knew little of his own handsomeness, and from this stemmed a remarkable lack of vanity - Sirius knew too much of his own, providing a deep well of self-assurance to fall back on. Each held flaws and strengths within their polar personalities, and within their identical beasts, caged deeply in sinew and hot flesh.
The Aquila was offered a shrug, but the motion was more inwardly directed, as though Sirius sought to brush off the women that had been bubbling trouble for him. It became apparent to him that Ezekiel had caught the scent of sex on his pelt. A smug, toothy smile heralded his silver tongue. "Don't preach your carefulness to me, Ezekiel. At least I know the feel of a woman to warm my bedfurs; Your demon prattle speaks of its own abstinence. You do look in need of a good fuck," Here, the snake grinned widely, pleased with how crude his suave caramel tones sounded above the crackling flames.
