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In his Optime form at Grandfather’s, if that’s okay—just PM me if you want anything changed. And... my muse says that it wants to be stupid, =n=
IT IS INEVITABLE
The blood of Dahlia de Mai, so weak and insignificant, had paid for his daughter. He would not have to waste his time with those things again. His daughter would know what must be done—she was not incompetent like the others that she surrounded herself with. And yet, that lighter male had shown some potential, but the crow wolf doubted that the other would do anything soon. A member of the pack had just been killed by his own jaws—destroyed. The wretched thing ceased to exist, its blood spattering the tainted earth. And he had left it there, left it to rot. Left it for those wretched members to find. Cwmfen had found it—her pack would now know the nature of his daughter. Like Graine, Cwmfen was nothing but a shell, the blood in her veins perfect for his seed. But Like Graine, Cwmfen was weak, afraid. She would succumb to him, and whether she consented or not was not an issue as it was with the lesser creatures. Whether by force, as it had been with Graine, or willingly, as it had been with Sabeen Thames, her body would belong to him. It already belonged to him. He sneered, mirthless laughter echoing in his mind. And that Onus believed that Cwmfen was his, that he could keep her. The laughter echoed again. The Raven had whispered it to him, whispered everything. He knew what went on in the city.
The black feet with claws that tore the earth with each silent step carried the pied brute to a familiar place. Here, he had made the first attack upon a Dahlian. The foolish thing had fallen easily despite the sudden shift. His blood, too, had fallen like rain upon the earth, bleeding into the waters and tainting it. But unlike the dead thing, the diamond marked Dahlian had no purpose to die. His purpose had been to carry a less severe warning, for that time had been early. The brute paused, those fathomless orbs considering the ground. The traces of that night had long since passed. The Korean raised his head, those black auds raised above his heads like some infernal horns. His muscled form, trained with those ancient arts of war, was still, lithic. Those black eyes saw another, a lighter form—almost white and yet tainted. The colourless world could not hide from the scrutiny of a god—his scrutiny—as he watched her in silence. The silence, like his presence, was on oppressive darkness that fell about his shoulders, the tendrils of shadow drawing her in. She smelled like the idiot he had met at the borders of a tribe. A sneer tugged at his lips. Would this thing be the same? The black tail carved a sinuous path behind him as it moved like a snake, breaking the eerie stillness of his form. “Why so alone,” the tenor voice soothed, dripping in a blackness as it slithered dangerously through the air between them.
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She had been sitting in complete silence. The air felt…wrong, here. Aurèle could not name why such a thing struck her then, but it had. Perhaps because of the remarkable color of the water—it was nearly blue beyond blue, something she had not seen since passing south from the frozen land. Both of her feet were submerged in the spring, white hair pulled up messily, away from her face. So absorbed was she in the silence, in the things that she should not have seen, that it was not until the strange voice came from behind her that she stirred.
Both ears swiveled and her head followed suit, neon-green eyes focusing on the peculiar male silently. His presence, like the air, felt wrong. His eyes were like a fish, a shark, a snake—but his coat was that of the raven. She gave him no emotion, and did not move her body. “Because it is inevitable,” she replied, accented voice rolling from her throat calmly.
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IT IS INEVITABLE
The brute’s black lips twitched with that sneer as he watched her standing there in the pool with those hollow, black orbs. This scene was all too familiar. It had been the way in which he had discovered Graine, though she had been a wolf only, uninfected by the virus as he was—although, that too had changed. His mind laughed, that mirthless cacophony echoing within the hollow reaches of his soul. The Korean did not know why he thought of that now—this thing that stood there was not as worthy as Graine had been, as worthy as his daughter was. The black maw twitched as he tasted the air, a tongue flickering out briefly, a peculiar movement like that of a snake. Her scent did not seem as putrid as that of the others, and it allowed him to consider considering her. Perhaps this would be worth his time after all.
The light female responded to his voice. Her words were strange, familiar, as if he had heard them before, as if he were speaking them now. Those ears that rose above his head so infernally twitched. Then suddenly that mirthless laughter became manifest, rattling the air, clawing the silence. It was a dangerously quiet sound, made as his lips split in that terrible sneer. The black orbs flickered with something dark, something sinister, as he strode forward, those steps fluid an unreal. The black feet stopped at the edge of the pool, those claws dipping into the water as poisonous fangs dipped into the bloodstream. The Korean watched the calm creature. “Do you know why I am here?” His tenor voice was quiet, soothing, marred only slightly by the patterns of his true language. His hands hung as fists at his sides, as keeping those weapons sheathed. The eyes pierced her lighter ones that shone a bright grey in his vision, and it was as if he were mocking her.
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The laughter rose and traveled to her ears, carried by the wind. She focused all of her attention on him then; eyes brightening as if lit unnaturally, mouth shut and ears high. He seemed unnatural. Unreal. Like a nightmare made manifest. Yet for all of this, she did not fear him. She was intrigued, as all dark and terrible depths intrigued her. That was why things had to happen the way they did. Aurèle had chosen Bane, and he had come to her. She had taken the scarred male because she could not quell the desire to dominate.
A secondary desire had begun to rear its head, one she did not fully understand nor expect. Mockery or not, she found something in his words that reminded her of Bane. She smiled thinly, but her eyes remained like nuclear winter. “I would imagine you came to fulfill your destiny,” she offered cryptically, speaking in a broad sense of the matter.
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IT IS INEVITABLE
The brute exhaled sharply in that sneering amusement. Indeed. “Destiny does not exist,” the tenor sound countered as he moved those bangs from his eyes with a curt flick of his head. “There is only causality.” It was the same thing he had told the other fool of this female’s pack. But this one was quiet, not wasting her breath with foolish idiocies like the incessant buzzing of flies over a carcass. This one seemed to understand, if only marginally, the way in which the world worked and that he was not just some wolf wandering about the lands as aimlessly as the creates of these lands wandered aimlessly through their wretched lives. “But control your own cause and your own effect and obtain the power to control that which is perceived as Destiny, as Fate.” The words of the Korean were spoken as if he gave this female a gift of insight. How merciful the crow wolf could be.
His right hand was released from its sheath, those claws allowed to taste the cool air of the night. And that hand that required no weapon to destroy life lifted as he reached out, an invitation to join him that could not be refused. The pale light of the moon reflected from the water, moving across both forms. Those strange, illuminating lines played across the beautiful but terrible face of the Korean as his cruel maw twitched as if to snarl, the sneer upon those lips tugging at the corners. “Why not join me,” the tenor soothed, offering her that illusion of choice. “It will be safer for you to remain with me.” Those words were spoken as if there were some terror in the night, but the only danger was the darkness of his own soul seeking now to devour the light of those lighter eyes that were allowed to look upon him.
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She recalled one of the stories of her youth—a fable about a lion and a doe. The doe had fled from hunters and run into the cave of the lion, only to be devoured. Aurèle wondered now if that was her fate. What monsters had lived in her past were long gone or dead, slaughtered by an unknown assailant that had turned that peculiar building into a house of death. There was no fear, not for her body, for that had long since been taken from her. She had willed it away for four years, and those four years had come undone in one solid and shattering blow.
Her face remained placid, though his twisted and turned like clouds before a summer storm. Like the water she remained still, and at his offer regarded him as one might observe a peculiar statue, an unusual shape amongst the moon-dappled forest. “I have seen the future,” she announced. “What is it you can show me?” Even as she waited for his response, she was moving towards him. Even if he told her nothing, she knew it was a lie; there was something terrible, dark, and powerful in the man. She sought to perceive it.
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IT IS INEVITABLE
“And what has the future told you?” The brute watched as she came closer, accepting that false invitation, obeying that command. Always, whether there was acceptance or not, the end of another’s path in his embrace was the same. With the impressionable young, it could be different. With the impregnable females, different yet. This male, unlike much of the wretched males of these lands, was not necessarily a sexual predator. What he sought from the life of others was something far deeper: a taste of their life, a taste of their soul, to devour life and destroy it. And he had that power—like a god he could take life or give it, and with his loins he could create it. He took control of that power, he believed, and so had placed himself within circle of gods, crowned by the tenebrous divinity that he followed now, that had showed to him the blood that now ran in his daughter’s veins. And through that causality of his life, the male wandered through this unfulfilled life as if he controlled it, as if he were a god. Transcended.
Upon this light female there were many seasons, more so than most he had encountered within these lands. But she was not aged. But it was not that which allowed him to consider her worthy of his attention. He sensed, as he had sensed in Sabeen and the male that shared his daughter’s pack, that potential. This female was not as wretched as the things with which she surrounded herself, but she was not pitiful like those who followed the darkness falsely, disgustingly. The pied brute had refined his darkness, like polished obsidian that held a hidden barb shrouded in tenebrous clouds. His hands reached out to grasp her approaching form, bringing her to a dangerous proximity. That movement had been strange, surreal. It had been unnaturally fluid and swift, and they brought her body near to his, on hand at her waist and the other at her neck. He did not ask permission to touch her—he did not need it. It was she who required permission. His nose ran along the curvature of her neck, breathing in not her scent but the scent of her blood—as if he could smell it through her fur and skin. “I can show you the darkness—the true nature of the night.” That was all. His maw ceased to move as those fathomless orbs shifted, his narrow eyes taking a sidelong glance up to her face. He did not desire her body. Now he desired only her blood.
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“Blood,” she answered simply. Then he had her, pressed against his body and searching for her throat. The pale woman remained loose, and let his prying muzzle seek out whatever it was he was after. She felt him as she might the salt in the ocean or the clay in the earth. He was present, he was real, but he was only a part of a greater scheme. The pied wolf was something special, of that she had no doubt. But that did not make him more important to her then Bane, or the Cyclops, or the men that had come before them.
She listened to him, eyes focused on inky black pools, and thought of the bird and the snake. “Show me,” she said; it was neither a demand nor a request. This man, whoever he was, was the type for neither. What he gave to her would be at his discretion; and what she took would be her own. That unnatural fire continued to burn behind her eyes, gleaming mirthlessly in the moonlight.
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IT IS INEVITABLE
The black mind sneered. Blood. The future had revealed to her blood. Those words were vague—perhaps she did not understand, but he did not expect her to. Even if she could understand, would it matter? She could do nothing of it. Ambiguity. Ambiguity was not the future—the future was not yet written. The future could not be written. There was only the present and the past. Causality. There was no Fate or Destiny, no written future, no certainty. There was only cause and effect, and such things existed in the presence. Only through that understanding could one foresee the consequences, the ‘future’. And yet, these creatures continued to require a higher entity to guide them. Of course, the brute himself was at the mercy of that god of darkness, but it was silent, dormant. He alone made the reason in his sinister life.The brute’s maw pressed up against the quiet pulsing string that ran along that neck, his teeth brushing against it, pressing against her skin, but not yet breaking it. It was as if he were listening for something specific, feeling for it.
There. His jaws parted, and those teeth flicked along her neck. He cut a short, shallow gash, a clean gash deftly made with those sharp, practiced teeth. The blood spilled quietly from that place, falling upon that waiting tongue. Those black jaws held her neck with surprising gentleness, his tongue pressing into the wound that he had made. He pressed it into the wound, allowing the blood to pulse more freely into his awaiting throat. Hands with an iron grip held her there securely, and for a long moment, he simply tasted her. Then his jaws withdrew and with it his tongue. The black eyes watched the place behind her, the pool and the darkness of the night. The shadows pulled back, touching his form with tentative fingers. The Korean’s hands released her, unceremoniously pushing her from him. “You don’t want it enough,” that insidious tenor simply said, that emotionless façade unmoved.
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The pain was sharp and sudden, but she felt it mixed with ecstasy. Oh, to feel alive again. She would find life through him, in that vicarious action, but all too suddenly it was taken from her. Something snapped awake, something vicious and needy. Her face twisted into a warped, terrible snarl, and as she continued to bleed, her body moved like a viper. Both hands went for his arms, and while he was large, she was nearly his size and sought to bring him down with her. A feral need ripped through her chest, the same heat that flew from her heart to her loins.
He had had her blood. She, in that display, demanded that it be repaid—the heat from her body was nearly unbearable now. It was unspoken, that need, and vocalized in the feral ways. If she was forced to provoke it from him, she would. One way or another, even if it cost her more blood, she intended to take from him.
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Slight but reasonable PP. If you want it changed, just let me know via PM, ^=^
IT IS INEVITABLE
A sneer tugged at the corner of his lips, but that was all. The emotionless façade remained in place as he watched her with those flat, hollow eyes of obsidian. She was displeased by his rejection of her, her features distorted by anger. Rage. He could smell it in the air, permeating the brute’s mind like the activation energy of a chemical reaction. It was a first step that opened the heart to darkness. It made her quick, her hands seeking his arms. But the pied brute was a creature of the martial world, just as his daughter who carried his blood had become. But he had not excited rage within his daughter yet as he had excited it from this woman now. Thus the sneer. Hence his power over causality. Hence his creation of purpose and destiny. Surely he was as a god.
She was quick, but he was quicker. Even as he grabbed her arms, her anger touching his skin like a hot and yet insignificant flame, he had moved with cold precision. Those trained hands moved about her, one grabbing her wrist while the other, assisted by his superior strength and manipulation of joints, grabbed her shoulder. And with a simple step toward her and a knock against her neck, he had placed her on the earth. The pied body followed her down, moving to hold her arms against the earth above her head. His body was pressed against hers, but his body, unlike hers, did not have the urgency of that lustful flame. He was unmoved, that emotionless façade unamused as those black orbs pressed upon the lighter gaze. Those cruel jaws lingered above hers, a sinister curiosity flickering in those black orbs. She was in a dangerous place with no place to escape, and he did not plan to show this female mercy.
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The rage was that of another time. She no longer considered herself that same girl, but this felt familiar. Under her back the earth was cold and solid, and it grounded her. Tension raced through her body, and her muscles remained taunt, waiting for any opportunity to move. Though she squirmed under his grasp, there was no panic and no fear in her eyes. Far from it—they were laughing silently, a dark and terrible laughter that suggested he had done nothing she had not desired.
Her legs moved, though they were pinned down by his greater weight, and she arched her back to press against his body. “I don’t want to see,” she explained, a terrible desperation hiding in her voice. “I need to see.” If she did not, then she would see the other terrible things. He had promised her darkness; at least that would stop those nightmare visions.
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IT IS INEVITABLE
The brute’s eyes watched her with that intensity that required no effort to produce. As he lay above her, his hackles rose as if to display his dominance. Her body was brought up to brush against him as the lighter female spoke. The male was unmoved, unresponsive, his body as a stone and just as cold. Her body was physical, like all females, but it was only that, only physical. He did not lust for such things, though he heard that desire within her voice that was so intricately linked with that physical one. He could feel the heat of her loins, but he did not desire it. He desired what was beyond the physical, and he would take it from her. The darkness in her heart would be made to blossom as the life would be made to manifest within her womb. Although the child would not be as it could be within Cwmfen’s womb, although it would not carry within it a true darkness, he knew that it would be enough for these wretched lands. Already he had dipped himself in it, spreading the darkness before his departure.
“If you require it,” the tenor soothed with dangerously assuaging tones, “you must be willing to sacrifice something for it.” As he spoke, his words became marred by his Korean tongue, as if he sought to speak it. The brute sneered with that black mockery, one hand trailing down her arm and to that small sliver in her neck. The black claws touched it quietly with a sadistic curiosity, his gaze lingering upon it before returned to the lighter eyes of the female. “Submit to me,” the tenor whispered insidiously, those jaws still lingering and hungering above hers. “Give your soul to me.” His hand trailed down to where he could feel her heart beating, the claws pressing against her skin as if he sought to rip out the beating organ. “I am its master now.” He said it as if her soul had already been given, that it existed and was in his possession.
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The need was not physical—she desired no pleasure from this action. She saw in him only the tool, and the means to reach what she desired. It would be enough. Even as she stared into those viper’s eyes, she was certain that it was inevitable. Aurèle did not intend to learn his name, to gather anything from him. That was not what she needed. Deep in his body was the life-source that would give her the power to create. Whatever else he was, that was what she needed.
Everything else meant nothing. So at his demand, at his touch, she smiled. There was no soul in her body. It had been ripped from her by another man years ago. Before she even knew what it was to desire. “It belongs to you,” she whispered huskily, leaning her head back and putting her throat on display. If he sought to kill her, then she would not weep. She had been dying for nearly five years now. Under him, she went limp and adjusted her hips, opening them to him. Aurèle was not in control of this situation, and her body displayed this in a way her words could not.
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:O He would be pissed if/when he found out that the soul was already taken
IT IS INEVITABLE
The flat, black orbs watched her, his lip twitching once. Once more he offered her that illusion of choice. He would have taken it even if she resisted—her body would have been made to yield to him. But it would be made to yield now regardless. Her body went limp beneath him, and yet, the pied wolf felt that submission was not complete. That body of sinew pressed up against her, his jaws lowering over her bared neck. The black nose pressed against the base of her neck at the junction of the shoulder; when he was done with her tonight, he’d mark with his claws so that she would know who she belonged to: a creature from the dark heavens, a mortal with the greatness of a god. The horned ears flickered as his claws found her wrists, holding them down as if he had chained her.
The brute moved into the female, thrusting into with unrestrained force. He would not be gentle. This was no longer about her. And he would gain what he wanted from this night. She would know that she would ultimately belong to him, and he would plant his seed within her so that she would bear the spawn of his loins. It would and could not be as the womb of his daughter could deliver, but his blood would overcome much that the wretched life forms of this place could not. He paused briefly after that first penetration, his hand moving along her form as if sampling the quality of some fine garment. His lip twitched. Those black eyes fell heavily upon her gaze as if he would consume her. She would know the darkness. His black, hollow soul would brush up against the soul harbored within her shell, that most intimate and dangerous touch that was like the touch of Death itself.
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Under her spine the ground was dry and cold. The earth itself felt as if it was going to pull her down, into the dark soil. It was an ancient sensation, as if her bones desired to reach that earthy coil before their time. A familiar pressure against her wrists caused a familiar fire to dance behind her eyes, but they remained remarkably stoic. None of these sensations were new; they were a part of her history, and they were what she had to endure to reach her ends. She knew what she desired; it was not physical pleasure, and it was not emotional attachment. It was the primal and necessary desire to continue her bloodline. If she did not manage this, how could she be immortal?
Then he thrust forward, parting her with no grace. Aurèle inhaled sharply, and a darkness rose in her eyes. Yes. This is what she had wanted. This was what she had demanded. She did not move her hands, though her body twisted, presenting him the illusion of struggle. Despite the pull of the earth beneath her, Aurèle arched her back, allowing him deeper into her body. Not once did her eyes leave his. She did not understand what he saw in this act, but she knew that they were much alike—had she been able to read beyond those empty orbs, she might have realized they both desired to be gods.
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Make this a quick one? ^=^
IT IS INEVITABLE
The brute’s flat, black gaze fell upon the lighter eyes that watched him. She moved beneath him, such movements like that of a writhing worm. Her back arched, her body, soft and desirable, had he desired such things, pressed against his. She offered him depth, and he took it as he drove within her. His cruel jaws ran along her throat, following the deadly beating of their joined bodies. Those bone white teeth brushed against her throat, each scrape increasing in depth with the threatening brush of death—but he would not kill her, for he was merciful. There had been anger within the female—she required now fear and hate to accept what the Darkness had to offer. The black laughter clawed forth within his mind; he wondered if she could even receive it. There would be less mercy upon her life for such an inadequate existence. His tongue flickered out like that of a snake, tasting the blood that had been given willingly to him as if in sacrifice.
Those black hands slithered down her arms as he held her shoulders with that iron grip as he moved within her to destroy her. Those black claws raked down her sides, and along her thighs as he took her knees, pushing them up against her shoulders. The pied brute sought a depth too great for her body to yield. The black orbs flickered darkly down at her, that sadistic mockery tipping the tongues of those black flames. Unlike the sexual experience of females, for males it was simply physical. And for the pied Korean, it was even less. His body did not seem to respond as it should to the ecstasy, to the stimulus of her body. He simply required the inevitable climax of her body so that her soul would be able to taste his, to dip into the Darkness and know what it was that he allowed her to know. That was all. Her body would receive his seed, and he would leave her to spawn whatever it was that would grow within that lesser body.
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Each thrust was forceful, but not painful. Aurèle had experienced pain far greater then anything he could give her. So as he took her, she cried out—the pressure against her pelvis caused pleasure to ripple through her body. As it mixed with the pain of his hands, and then claws, it became almost unbearable. He took her and lifted her from the ground, and her hands gripped the earth to keep her from losing what control she had. She cared little for soft lovers or whispers of promise; what she wanted was this rape, this abuse, this senseless act to fill her because it was necessary.
It might have been a little more then fifteen minutes, in which she was assaulted again and again, and in which the terrible darkness overtook her face. Aurèle’s hands gripped at his forearms, bidding him to force her body closer, to use her as she had been used before. A maniac fire burnt behind her eyes, and her mouth was open, panting. Chest heaving, she cried out as her muscles began to tighten, demanding the singular climax that would secure her immortality.
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Works for me, ^=^
IT IS INEVITABLE
The woman beneath him cried out. As the waves of climax took her body, he felt his body respond in like kind. In that single, climatic moment in which souls were practically a single entity, that black, hollow soul filled only with those things of Darkness brushed against her worthlessness. Perhaps she would know, then, what words were useless to explain. And perhaps she would learn what the other wretched things that were so disgustingly human could not. Perhaps she would gain the worth enough to bear the spawn of his seed. The pied brute breathed a single breath against the thing his body did not remember as hers did, and it was as if she had been some utensil in the satisfying of those sinister desires. His blood would taint those pitiful whelps that would be wrought from both their loins. The Korean withdrew from her body that had grown limp against him even before the last waves of her climax had ended.
Those hands released her as he rose kneeling beneath the legs that had been parted for him. He reached down to her neck, lifting her limp form to sit up in a manner that was strangely and perhaps dangerously gentle, as if now, with that black seed having been deposited, she was something fragile. But his grip behind her neck was not gentle as he tightened it. The other hand rested upon her shoulder, the claw of his thumb finding that place at the base of her neck upon which he had chosen to mark her. Six times he dug his claw into her flesh to create three horizontal lines, each thick and deep. Heaven. She would remember that she now belonged to him, to he who descended in darkness from the heaven of the gods. With a sneer flickering upon that emotionless façade, the iron grip released her, dropping her body brutally upon the earth before he rose and simply disappeared into the darkness of the woods, those unnaturally fluid movements giving the brute a wraith’s cloak before leaving that female to do as she must.
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