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Set evening of the 15th through morning of the 16th, where Onus should come in. Weather is overcast and rainy/drizzling.
700+
The warrior was frustrated, that quiet, diluted anger threatening to become something more. Brennt had fled, leaving her unable to follow. Once more the yellow-eyed predator had escaped her, and once more she was unable to pursue him. The black female felt her body give way to the wounds as she collapsed upon the concrete. The wound upon her leg was most taxing, taking blood and strength from her. The woad bands upon her fur were distorted by the tearing jaws of her opponent and darkened by her blood. It had been this that had kept her from going, that kept her from standing now. For a moment, the she-wolf simply lay her head upon the concrete, allowing the waves of pain that shot through her to subside. Brennt would not be back—she did not have much to fear in that. And the frenzy of Nemain had left her, leaving her drained of energy. She should have eaten hours ago, she should have slept. But now, it was too late. Sleep would only help her heal. At least, in lupus form, she could still walk.
At length, the warrior rose, her movements still fluid despite her wounds. The heavens, brooding and dark, thundered silently as if in calling. A single drop of water dropped upon the concrete, a dark blemish. And then another, and another. The rain was quiet and light, as if holding back. The white orbs turned up to the heavens, listening to the song of the world, for it was when it rained that the world sang most beautifully to her. A light smile graced her maw, and a soft breath escaped her. The rain washed her wounds with kind and gentle drops, her blood forming puddles about her. The wound upon her neck had begun to stiffen, disliking that she moved and disrupted the processes of healing. The woad warrior noted its protest. Dahlia, although the territory now touched Halifax, was too far now. The city was closer. Onus was closer. Perhaps she could seek him out, perhaps she could seek shelter for at least that night. Or, the woman thought, perhaps she should den in an abandoned edifice alone. If she stopped moving, the bleeding may stop.
Each step brought pain, and each step brought down the tolerance of her body and mind. Regardless, the warrior pressed on, able still to ignore the pain of her leg, or her neck, of the many wounds that had been given upon her back. The white orbs peered through the rain as she made her steady progress, her claws clicking against the concrete. When the world was raining, the city was beautiful. The sound of the rain, the song of that rain, was indescribably breathtaking. And it was with that in mind, with that simple melody filling her soul, that the woman came upon a tree. The wolf paused, recognizing it as she looked up upon its full crown. As her gaze traced down the trunk and to the concrete in which the roots had taken hold, her eyes beheld a familiar weapon. Badb. The she-wolf paused, watching the blade as it stood there, embedded within the earth. Slowly, she approached it. It was no coincidence that she had found it now.
The woad warrior paused as she stood before it, her nose reaching out to touch the hilt. The sword’s song sprung to life. The black fae felt a sudden urge to hold it, and although a shift would only open the wounds further, she took a deep breath and began to Change. The pain that ripped through her body was a blinding white, a red too intensely bright to register. As the Change completed, the woman fell back against the wet concrete, her eyes closed as she allowed the waves of pain—so like the waves of pleasure—to fall from her. Her body shook with the effort, the blood flowing renewed through her wounds. Slowly, her body relaxed and her eyes opened. And slowly, she pushed herself up. Leaning upon the tree, the woman grasped the hilt of Badb and pulled the blade from the earth, its soul cleansed and renewed.
With night falling swiftly, the rain grew cold. The woman tested her weight upon that injured leg—the cold must have numbed the pain because it could hold her. Slowly, with Badb in hand, she moved to the shelter of a nearby building, its entry halls dark and long since abandoned. It was dry in the human edifice, but it cold. For a moment, the woman leaned against the wall, her breathing slightly labored. A flash of lightning illuminated the entirety of the hall—there was someone. She pushed herself from the wall, slowly placing herself in the center of the corridor, Badb brandished low and at her side as the thunder cracked harshly through the air. "Corvus." His scent was unmistakable.
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Oh, I’m thinking that the building is a hotel building near Onus’ apartment. ^=^;;
IT IS INEVITABLE
The one-eyed Raven had come to him. The pied bird was merely a servant, its reliance upon wolves made necessary by its limited vision. The crow wolf had used that to his advantaged, and the bird had become his eyes and ears. He knew everything about his daughter. He knew who had attacked her. He knew who she had lain with. And he knew now who it was that she loved. He sneered, holding the bird upon his arm as he clawed finger stroked its breast with a brooding blackness. Tonight, his daughter was in the city. Tonight she fought, but he would be there waiting for her. And he waited for her now, silent and patient within the darkness of that building of many rooms. The Raven clicked its beak quietly in the darkness, disrupting the silence of the master as he stood there in a room upon the first floor. The bed was still intact, and he had prepared the place especially for his daughter. Even as he sent the bird into the darkness of the storm, his daughter had entered the building. The pied brute shifted from that lithic posture, moving back into the atrium of that building. The time had come.
As if to his bidding, the noise of the rain was shattered by the lightning. That eerie leer split his maw, those black, fathomless eyes finding the form of that female easily. The blade flashed in the transitory light—light was always transitory—before the darkness was allowed to persist. His name, or the name that had been known to be his, was spoken in the darkness. A sneer tugged at those lips, but the emotionless façade was maintained. He was silent as he stood there, unmoving and lithic. Those fathomless orbs found hers in the dark, locking upon them and holding her there. He had shown the coyote, Onus, that she could come willingly, and she could. He had told the male from her pack that she would be made to come willingly, and she had. And they stood now within the darkened edifice, lead by what he believed to be causality. He knew what she believed in, that she was a child of Nemain just as Graine had been. She would believe that the gods had lead her to that moment in time. It would make her more accepting of what he would do.
“You’ve finally come to me,” the empty tenor soothed, his unnerving voice carrying easily through the incessant sound of the rain. He strode several steps toward her, the way he held himself aristocratic, enigmatic. The black tendrils of darkness reached out to his daughter, touching her with a familiarity. The pied Korean did not forget when he had taken her virginity from her. And her body had been satisfying—more so than Graine’s had been for that bloodline had been mixed with his own. And he would have that satisfaction again tonight. “널 기다리고 있었는데....” And then the brute’s mirthless laughter grated the air, a quiet, unnatural sound that slid from between scarcely parted lips. But his face never changed as he watched her, simply waiting. There was still a great distance between them, and still she would come.
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500+
Nemain whispered in her ear, riding upon the roar of the rain. The grip upon the blade tightened as she watched his form, the warning white of his breast giving away his position. She had not been seeking him. In this state, she could do very little against him. But she did not turn away. She did not run. She simply stood there in silent defiance. But she could feel the blackness emanating from him, pulling her, drawing her in as strongly as it had in her childhood. He hadn’t changed. He never changed. And deep within her soul where that black blemish existed, that intrigue of her father continued to flicker there—no, it was not of him. It was of the emptiness of his soul. It was the darkness of his heart. It was the blackness of his mind. It was darkness that drew upon her quiet curiosity. It was something to which the warrior was completely defenseless. She knew that it had brought her here before him now. She could not let it go—and the darkness drew her in, bidding her to submit. And yet, she could not.
"그레?" Her voice was cold. The woman responded in that language, the words rolling with only slight flaws. The alto melody was quiet, the silver tones darkened by the damp night. "내가 널 얼마나 찾았는데.... 왜 그렜어?" Nemain urged her quietly, and the woad marked warrior could feel a quiet rage within her. Why did he expect her to come and then elude her? Why had he insisted upon attacking her packmembers, upon killing Ril’o? Nemain pulled weariness from her limbs, pulled pain from her wounds. The woman shifted, testing the weight of Badb within her hand. Corvus strode forward, but the warrior did not flinch. She was felt fear, but she was not afraid. She knew that the time had come. Now was her time, and she would resist him. That was the path that had been chosen.
"I’ve come," the quiet alto responded, "but I have come to conquer you." The woman raised her blade before rushing forward, swinging it deftly within her hands. The blade was thrust forward, seeking to cut his gut before she moved in again. Most of her weight was held upon the unharmed leg, but occasionally she required the use of the other. The left hand of the warrior was left open, raised slightly to block attacks. That hand should have carried a shield, but it did not and simple bone and flesh would have to do. Most kicks and punches would be useless with her wounds. She hoped that the blade would provide some sort of advantage, that it would put her in the favor of the Fates. In the back of her mind, the Caledonian-Korean noted the futility of it all. She could not possibly win against him, not like this. But she fought him anyway. She would not turn and run. Whatever she did, the pied brute would have her. Perhaps, then, it all would end.
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IT IS INEVITABLE
The brute’s lips merely twitched in the silence. He did not respond to her words. There was no need to respond. Both creatures knew why it was. And they both knew that it had not been necessary. The cause of his reason had been her actions. Had she not fled from Caledonia, these wretched things would not be required to live beneath his mercy. But she had run, and he had simply pursued. Cause and Effect. Causality. It was simple. The crow wolf had once been simply a wolf, and he did not allow things to overly complicate his plans. Intricate plans were the delusions of a fool. He worked simply and efficiently. Without emotions to blind him, without emotions to hinder him, the crow wolf had become a god of darkness. Some gods had fallen dormant—he would take their place. With the blood of Cwmfen nic Graine, he would gain immortality.
He could smell her blood in the air—it was intoxicating. Like nothing else in the wretched world. It made him restless. He needed it now. And the blood, while it had slowed, still flowed from those wounds. Her movements did not allow them to begin the process of healing, and her elevating heart rate simply pushed the blood through with an elevated celerity. It would make her weak. Soon, she would lose too much blood. She would feel the symptoms—it would not be long: weakness, trembling, and, if left untended for too long, death. The pied brute would be careful with this one—he required her to live. But it could be used to his advantage. She would not be able to resist him. It would make things much more...simpler. She was foolish to challenge him in such a way. It was insulting that she had come to him like this. But, as with all things, the Korean would take advantage of this weakness.
And his daughter rushed him. The thrust to his torso was easily avoided by a simple step back and the bending back of his hips. His hand went to push the blade aside, but she swiftly brought the blade up again. And once more the Korean martial artist avoided her attack. And he made no attack upon her. He simply moved back, blocking and avoiding her every attempt to cut his flesh. Slowly, the pied brute lead her down the hallway and to the room. Here, the brute paused and refused to move any farther. When her sword came up again, he moved in, blocking it with a single hand held at her wrist. He twisted that arm down, holding it between his own arm and his body. She pulled back with a strength that he had not expected, and the blade bit him, cutting into that deep, old scar. He took the blade, tossing it aside with a snarl. And then, when she threw that kick, he caught it, holding her leg in the same way he had held her arm. Lifting her, he threw her against the wall, causing her blood to smear and splatter against it before he dropped her unceremoniously upon the cold ground, those black orbs watching her with that cold, distant, calculation.
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500+
Blood loss, weakness, pain, fatigue, hunger. These things no longer mattered. With the frenay of Nemain within her, they mattered dangerously little. Slowly but surely, they dragged the woman down, making her slow, making her attacks ineffective. But then, at that moment, she was as strong as she could have been. And she was compelled forward, willing now to fight, to force Corvus to kill her. The warrior reasoned that if she were killed, he would not rape her. If she were killed, he would depart from these lands. She could protect those that she cared for. She could fight this one last battle. And perhaps it was all foolish thinking induced by that lacking blood, but in that time, in the time of the Fates, the warrior had been delivered—abandoned—in that state. She was alone now, alone as she had always been. And yet the solitude felt different, it felt hollow. It was as if someone else should be there but was not. And Time did not wait.
He backed away from her and did not attack. She pursued him, insistent that he must. The hall grew narrower, and with it, her vision. It was then, in the darkness of the corridor of doors, that the frenzy of Nemain began to fade, falling from her being as her blood from her body. She made one last strike, but this time, Corvus stopped it. A reserve of strength was called upon as she cried out, pulling Badb from his grasp and gutting into that place that she new he could not bear. Surely, she received a snarl. It was rare that anger would rise within the crow wolf, more so than with herself. Anger. She could smell it. But Badb was torn from her grasp. With a last effort, the woman leapt up into the air and aimed a kick for his head, but he caught her. The torn leg would no longer support her. No.
She hit the wall, and the adrenalin was knocked from her, spattered with her blood against the wall. She fell and was unable to catch herself. A heavy weakness overcame her. It was as if Nemain had been satisfied, and satisfied she had departed. Her body trembled with the exertion she had made—her body should not even have been allowed to make those attacks. But now she lay there, unable to lift herself, unable to attack and defend herself. Her eyes, shut against the pain, struggled to open. Once she succeeded and saw Corvus above her, but they fell shut once more. Her body trembled again, this time with cold. Too much blood loss. How futile it was, how foolish. But the warrior would have rather ended up as she was now than to have run and fallen with her back turned. And the quiet rage did not die within her, flickering weakly within her as if in an environment too damp with water, as if the tears of the heavens had made wet her soul. A sigh escaped the woman. It was the sound of one who accepts the fate that has befallen them.
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Okay, now Onus can come in. Also, the way I set it up makes it so that Onus can’t take him off of her. >u< (also, sorry for the increasing crappiness—I’m super duper tired now, ahahah)
IT IS INEVITABLE
She could not rise again. He knew it would be so—causality. A sneer flickered across his lips. “불상한 아이,” that empty tenor sneered. Her eyes were closed, but he knew that she did not sleep, that she had not allowed her mind to slip into oblivion. For a long moment, an unbearably long moment for his daughter, the brute simply stood above her, looking down his long, cruel maw. He breathed in her scent. The scent of that family’s blood was his only weakness, and it was irresistible. The pied brute reached down, lifting that limp body from the ground in a strangely gentle manner. He entered the room, shutting and locking the door behind him, before he lay her upon the bed. A fire was running, and the air was comfortably warm. He looked down at her, his hand reaching out as he ran it down her side and leg as if feeling and admiring some fur coat. Those empty eyes roamed around her. What a fine young woman he had spawned.
He walked over to the fire and lifted from its tongues a metal rod—or a brand. He had modified one that had been found. It was a small one, no larger than the circumference of his thumb. He did not want his female to be overly married. A slight sneer clawed upon his maw. Glowing, the brand was brought to the bed. His hand touched the inside of her left thigh as a lover might, his fingers dangerously near to that fruit. “Was it here?” He paused there, his hand upon her inner thigh. He did not speak to Cwmfen but to Onus. His grip shifted, and he held her to the bed firmly before pressing the hot iron against her skin where her thigh had been kissed. But his daughter was so weak that she did not move very much—she did not even cry out. The brute laughed as he retracted the brand, reading the HanJa that now read “Darkness”. Throwing the rod back into the flames, he released her and climbed onto the bed, pressing his body up against hers. “You’ve always belonged to me,” he whispered in her ear, his hand coming up to brush against her wounded neck.
He thrust into her, roughly. Corvus’ body shuddered, the ecstasy he felt brought on by the reclamation of her body, by his submergence into that bloodline. She seemed to respond then, her struggling weak against him. Those merciless hands raked along her body, pushing into those wounds and keeping them open. As those brutal thrusts beat against her, his maw sough the wound upon her nape, his tongue flickering out as a snake’s might, and he drank that precious blood. For that first round, he was brutal and merciless upon her, bruising her, making her bleed. She was his and always had been. He would forgive her for giving her body to others, but he would cleanse her body first. As he had promised, his body would wash the other males’ from her. Her body would be made to forget. When he had finished with her, when he had spread his seed within her, the brute withdrew from her and was satisfied.
Eventually, he no longer penetrated her body for mere reproductive purposes. He used her for his own pleasure. She was nothing to him. It was what her body could do for him. For the rest of the night into the morning, he raped her several more times, as if to assure that she would become impregnated. Occasionally she’d cry out in pleasure, her body betraying her, her body forgetting that it should be resisting. The brute had not allowed her to heal, but much of the blood had ceased to flow, and his body against hers had made her hot. In the early hours of dawn, when he had allowed himself to sleep, Cwmfen had risen. But whatever it was that was sought to be done had failed. He pushed her roughly against the wall, his body against her back, holding her hands against the wall with his own as he raped her there, his jaws holding the back of her neck possessively. The wounds that had stained the sheets of the bed were now against him, tainting the pure white of his hollow breast. “You cannot,” that hollow tenor murmured in her hear. “You belong to me know.” He thrust into her as she moaned out loud, but whether it was for pain or pleasure could not be discerned.
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[html] http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v515/ ... bycdg1.jpg); background-position:top; background-repeat:no-repeat;">Omg, he's going to hate himself so much for having it happen not only in the city, but so close to his home. Righteous Fury ho! Some PP at the end, just let me know if you want it changed. Oh, and I kind assumed they were on the opposite wall from the door ^^;
Onus had left the city, continuing his search for the crow wolf. Why was he being so elusive? More importantly, how? The man was becoming almost panicked about the situation. He knew there was a ticking clock hanging over his head. Every moment he failed brought Corvus closer to getting what he wanted. No, he couldn't let that happen. He couldn't. He had promised her. Promised her. He never made a promise unless he full well intended to keep it. The sky threatened above him as he walked through the woods, thunder shattering the night air. It did nothing to improve the man's mood. He pitied anyone who decided to cross him tonight. It would be something they would highly regret. The vigilante was not usually on edge, which made him much more dangerous. More feral. More ruthless. Even less forgiving.
He had spent the entire night out looking and once again came up with nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing. Not even a hint of a whisper about the demon. As he was walking back to the edges of Halifax a somewhat large fallen branch blocked his path. Instead of simply changing his course or walking over it like he usually would have a sudden rage took him and he grabbed the branch hurling it with a snarl against a nearby tree. His face, which he had trained so thoroughly betrayed him, showing his teeth and his fur stood on end. The coyote's hands balled into fists as he continued to stomp back towards the city. He couldn't stand this. All this waiting and looking and finding nothing. A hot flame burned in him, singing his nerves yet making him stronger.
As he reached the very edge of the city suddenly he stopped dead in his tracks. His face melted back into that blank expression that said nothing. No... It felt like a boulder had just been dropped in his stomach. That flame inside of him faltered for a minute and felt as if it might extinguish. But it reared back up and Onus began to run. Faster and somehow slower than he ever had before. The man's heart pounded deafeningly inside his chest and ears. NonononononoNO! He skidded coming around a corner and saw that tree that stood near where his apartment was. Blood was mixing with the water on the ground, leading into the hotel. "NO!" he roared as he bolted inside.
The coyote's senses were heightened, almost painfully so. Blood tainted the air so thickly he almost choked. Not just any blood. Her blood. He followed that unmistakable scent down to one of the hallways and saw a place on the wall where it was smeared. Behind the cloth his eyes smoldered like hot coals and the fire rose in his chest. That righteous fire. Gaze found the closed door and knew that it was probably locked. A growl began to rise in his throat just as a moan came from behind that door. Suddenly that fire seemed to explode in him and his muscles twitched with untamed power. With a furious roar that would strike fear into the hearts of most he threw himself against the door and it easily gave from the force of his fury. And there they were. Onus charged forward, still moving with the force he had broken the door with. With large strength and no mercy his jaws parted to sink into the wolf's neck. When his jaws came together he clamped them as tight as he could. Claws struck out at that recent wound, black talons digging into it, aiming to cause as much pain and damage as possible. His other hand sunk into the flesh of the bastard's side, pushing in deep and raking down.
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IT IS INEVITABLE
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.
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500+
The brute had taken her. He burned her flesh—how did he know?—and kept her wounds open. The pain of her body was indescribable, and yet she could not find the strength to even cry out. Her limbs no longer responded as her mind slipped in and out of a limbo, never asleep and never awake. She could feel her father’s body against her own, harsh and unforgiving of her as he moved against her. And her body let him in without a fight. The strength had drained from her body, and now it betrayed her for the poor care she had given it. Her mind protested greatly, but the pied wolf could not hear. Even if he could, she knew that he would do nothing. She had not been strong enough to physically resist him, and so her wounded body was left at his disposal. It was the price of weakness. Her breath shuddered from her once, when he had first climaxed within her. Her soul shuddered—he was too close. That black soul—she had touched it. And like a black tar it stuck to her, unable to be removed. It was cold, like the hand of Death, and it sought now to wrap about her heart, to drown out the light. The woman cried out once. No. She didn’t want it so close. The Darkness of her father’s soul was too concentrated, too overwhelming. It to destroy her soul, to kill it. She tried to resist, but nothing responded anymore. Her soul shuddered.
Once, with the coming of dawn, sleep had briefly taken her. And the warrior had Dreamt a Dream, the same Dream that had occurred at the coming of dawn the other day. She stood at that river dividing life and death, and she watched as the pied Raven led the soul of another across that river. Yet, once more, before she could recognize it, the Dream had faded. The black fae had risen from the bed, her body compelled by some other force. The sheets had stuck painfully to her wounds, but she pulled away from them. She knew true defeat here in this room. But at the same time, she had not run, she had not feared. She had lifted her blade against him, and she had failed, but she had pushed that fear aside and had faced him. For the gods, that was enough, and for her, that would have to be enough as well. But there was someone else—who was he? She knew that he was important, but the world did not want her to remember. She swayed in the middle of the room, pain shooting up her leg as her body threatened to collapse.
But her father had seen her. He pushed against the wall, the heat of his body pressing away the cold of blood loss. He whispered in her ear. She belonged to him. And his body penetrated hers once more. Awake now, able to move and yet not able to resist, she experienced the rape over again. Once more, as he forced those climatic waves upon her, she could not help but cry out, feeling as if she were betraying someone—her mind was slipping again, and she struggled to remember. The roar and the crash of the shattering door were dull sounds in the distance. Her eyes struggled to remain open, as if it were important for her to see something. She felt herself pressed against he wall, and while her eyes were open, she did not see. While she smelled, she smelled only the blood and sex that tainted the room. And then Corvus had pulled away. She fell to the floor, but her body was numbed. It was cold. And the darkness was too close to her soul, as tainting as a brush of Death’s hand.
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There was a madness within him. One thing and one thing only existed in his mind and that was killing this son of a bitch. Whatever happened to him didn't matter, as long as he did that. The cool, calculated mind was gone, burned up in that fire that raged like an inferno inside of him. The circumstances didn't matter. How it was accomplished didn't matter. All that mattered was making sure this black beast left this world. As his claws dug into that already opened wound he could feel the beast's skin twitch and felt him tense. That hurts, doesn't it fucker? He growled low in his chest, a menacing noise and dug at his side all the more fervently. Even if his other assaults did little, this one was reaching the creature. It was a soft point and Onus would milk it for everything he could.
More words. Always with the words. Words were wind, they meant nothing to the crazed coyote. They only buzzed in his ears like pestering flies. He tightened his grip on the man's neck and shook violently, hoping to tear and rend the flesh. He wanted to paint the black and white beast red. He felt the wolf push away from the wall and dully heard her fall to the floor. It didn't distract him though. He couldn't help her, not now. Not until this was finished. Not until one or both of them were dead. Onus didn't even try to avoid being thrown over the man. Though when he felt the hands on his collar he dug his claws into both the man's side even deeper, knowing they would rip through his flesh as he was catapulted forward. The grip of his jaws also loosened, but did not disconnect entirely. When he was about half way through being thrown he clamped back down, twisting his neck and body so that it would not injure himself. The weight and gravity of his landing would be partially carried by the wolf as his teeth tugged into their holds.
Once his feet hit the floor he clamped down even tighter. He wanted to crush his neck and rip it from his body. He wanted to hear his breath cut off and the sweet sound of gurgling as his windpipe and esophagus were crushed. His hand shot out towards that wound on his side again, attacking it with his claws vigorously. Unlike before he paid no mind to how close they were. It didn't matter what happened to him. The vigilante deserved to feel pain after he had failed the only person he loved. Even if Corvus killed him, Onus was making sure that he would take the bastard down with him.
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>n< Shortening for the battle—maybe sometime in the fight he can see Onus’ eyes? Only if you want that to happen though, ^=^
IT IS INEVITABLE
Those cruel jaws split in a sneer, those beautiful and terrible features maniacal as those black eyes grew wide with his hunger for that blood. It was the blood of that creature that was so strangely satisfying. He would drink from him again, and drain him when he was dead. Like some monster from a Dream—from her Dream—he engaged with this masked coyote. The brute let out a snarl that distorted the air with its blackness. Pain. Only with this coyote had he felt it. And the coyote would pay for it. He was already in debt for having taken his daughter—this extra payment that the brute would extract would be easily taken. As the coyote was thrown from behind him, the claws tore at his flesh and the jaws tore at his neck. Onus twisted in the air with a skill to match the Korean. Ripping his teeth into his flesh, spilling his blood. There was a mania that arose with the pied brute, as that snarl faded into that grating laughter.
His hands reached about the coyote’s form, bringing him closer as he pushed them up against the wall. His own maw, like the maw of a hungry beast, moved against the coyote’s neck. His jaws sought the old and familiar wound where he had taken the flesh and discarded it the rain. Just as that night, it rained now, a morbid cycle of time’s nature. He reopened the wound, tearing it almost delicately, as if sampling a meal, before he slid over to shoulder, clamping down upon the bone. His nose was beneath the coat as he attempted to tear it open. But a successful attack would require the coyote to be pinned completely between the crow wolf and the wall. The Korean did not linger there for long, brought his head suddenly and viscously upon the coyote’s head, seeking, as he had with the dead Dahlian, to bare open the flesh of the neck, those fragile and integral rivers of blood set lose.
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[html] http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v515/ ... bycdg1.jpg); background-position:top; background-repeat:no-repeat;">Sure I'd be down for that 
It was working. He was reaching this bastard. Reaching that mortal core of him that the man tried to hard to hide and ignore. All the coyote's attacks were vicious and unforgiving like they never had been before. Never before had he slipped into such a state of crazed mania. Even during his fight with Haku it had been different. Not like this. This was expanded tenfold. All he saw was black and white and red and he knew there needed to be more red. The pied brute needed to be covered in it. And not anyone else's blood, but his own. Onus would pour the man dry until nothing was left. Mere death was not enough. He wanted to extinguish every fiber of this monster's being. The wolf's blood soaked his hands and his muzzle, more and more of it fell into his mouth. It was a disgusting taste, but taking this lifeblood was too satisfying to stop.
While Onus was aware he was pressed against the wall, it didn't much register. All he did was to keep his jaws clamped tightly on the other's neck and chomp down again with renewed vigor every now and then. This was no game, no dance. This was what they had both known was coming. Death. And the coyote was ready to get right to the chase. Onus was aware of the teeth that once again tore into his shoulder, but he felt nothing. The fury that fueled him took away his pain. It only added to his rage. As Corvus clamped down on his shoulder he clamped back down on the man's neck, harder than before. But then when the wolf's target moved to his neck he knew that he couldn't ignore the damage that could potentially be done there. Releasing his hold of that collared neck he snarled between his blood-drenched lips. Hands placed themselves lightly on the beast's hips, putting a small distance between them. And then he brought his knee up, smashing into the wolf's groin. Again and again and again and again, waiting for Corvus to back away before little was left of his manhood.
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IT IS INEVITABLE
Onus was playing rougher this time. In their first battle, the coyote had been more reserved in his fighting, ultimately nearly costing him his life. But tonight, it was amusing. It was as if that male actually believed that Cwmfen nic Graine mac Corvus was not rightfully in the possession of her father. It was if that male actually believed that he could have her.
As he moved to snap his jaws about the head of the coyote, the opponent’s knee smashed into his groin. He snarled but did not back away. The knee crushed into his loins once more, twice more, before the brute was forced back. That snarl was curled into a terrible sneer as his jaws snapped shut upon the cloth that hid the eyes of the other. He pulled away from the coyote, sliding back as his bloodied jaws discarded the piece of fabric that floated insignificantly to the floor, a mere trifle. His body was impervious to the other torn pains of the flesh. He was aware that his blood flowed freely, but the coyote had suffered an equal fate and would die. As the crow wolf crouched slightly against the throbbing of his loins, those hollow eyes pierced the other’s face.
He laughed then, a louder, blacker cacophony that sounded mockingly in the air. The coyote’s eyes were as black as his. See, the brute snarled, his jaws parting to expose those bone white teeth, we are the same. The pied brute leapt, a more primal attack than what his martial training would allow, as if he regressed now into the more primal instincts of the wolf he once was. But only his shaped had changed, not his soul. That hallow thing breathed in the smell of crime that permeated through the air of the room as those cruel jaws pulled back in a cacophonic challenge, those white, hungering teeth urging that Onus forward. As was the nature of the Darkness, he bid the other come to him. He was not inferior, he was superior, and he would do no other's bidding.
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Satisfaction rang through him every time his knee made contact with the wolf's groin. He wanted to ruin that which Corvus used as a weapon against women. If only he had a knife he would have tried to castrate the bastard. Right now blunt force was all that he had, but it was good enough. His goal of making the brute back away from the situation was accomplished, but not before teeth grabbed a hold of his eye wrap and pulled it away. That's the last mistake you'll ever make. If his fury had not been fearsome before, it sure was now. Those black pools were full of rage and hate and the need for blood. His face contorted into a vicious snarl, blood staining his lips and ivory fangs. Fire leapt up through those two dark windows. But it was not the darkness of the man before him. That is where Corvus was gravely mistaken.
As they stared each other down Onus discarded his hat and also his coat to the side. Now he stood before the crow wolf without any of his trappings, but it did not diminish anything. Blood from his shoulder leaked through his fur, but he couldn't even feel it. No, the coyote though back, as if he could hear the black creature's thoughts. We are not the same. Another great growl rumbled in the coyote's chest and he charged forward, lowering his head and then he jumped, tackling the brute to the floor. Corvus lay beneath him and he balled his hand into a fist and punched the beast right in the face. Then without a second wasted his hand wrapped around the wolf's muzzle, holding it shut. He moved almost instinctively, not even thinking about his actions. The hand around his muzzle pushed it back and to the side, exposing the wolf's bloodied throat. Then striking like a viper Onus brought his jaws down around his throat.
He could feel that ribbed tube between his teeth and then with all his might he yanked backwards, ripping it from the beast's body.
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IT IS INEVITABLE
The cloth had been discarded from those jaws just as the coyotes flesh had been discarded those moons ago. The terrible dance of time raged about them in the dark, but unlike the mortals of these lands, the crow wolf was not bound by time. Patient and insidious, the brute had bided his time with his daughter, a game he had played and had won. But a rage far greater than that of before had been invoked within the coyote. The black mind sneered at him. How easily rage seemed to be invoked within this creature. Perhaps his fear would be awakening soon. He watched silently, straightening his posture, as the coyote doffed his clothing. This was the final moment. One of them would be dead soon. The other would be left to claim the fallen body of the woad.
The male leapt, indeed coming to him. As the brute held his head against the impact of his body upon the floor, the other’s fist came in contact with his face before it closed about his cruel maw, shutting it. The crow wolf knew what was coming. He knew who was going to die. A maniacal laughter began to claw from his throat, that deep tenor sound dripping with that black mockery. Death cannot stop me, the brute’s mind echoed, those hollow black orbs flickering with that mirthless, black laughter. Even as his head was pushed back, the brute’s hands reached up, those claws raking against his assailant’s arms. But his jaws had already come down upon his bared neck, the teeth pulling with that great force the airway in his throat. Blood marred the white of his coat, staining it with that thick, dark, red.
For those last moments, air whistled uselessly in his throat, his jaws opening and closing as he struggled to obtain the air that he could no longer have. Those black eyes were riveted upon his killer, that snarl and that sneer still marring those beautiful features. His arms fell away from Onus, and eventually his body went still. But the light did not leave his eyes because there was no light to be gone. The Raven of his plumage had come for his soul, but it was abandoned in that place of crime. Corvus Vendetta had been conquered by something he had failed to understand.
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Onus didn't even feel the wolf's hands claw his arms. All he could feel was the exhilaration he felt as he pulled the throat from his greatest enemy. The blood spattered against his torso, staining his pure white front. As he looked down at the crow wolf he crushed that torn out windpipe between his jaws. A final show of his victory. Then he spit it out to the side, just as Corvus had spit out Onus' flesh all those moons ago. The blood dripped from his now closed maw as he stared down at the dying beast. The sound of that air whistling in his throat almost made him grin, but his face had returned to that stoic expression. Soon the body of Corvus Vendetta lay lifeless beneath him, and his rage was gone. That fire that had fueled all his actions this morning was quenched with blood and the life of this demon.
And now his mind turned, turned back to that one he had done all this for. A panic lit in his eyes again and he rose and stumbled over to her fallen form. "Cwmfen?" he said softly, his rough voice strained. She couldn't be dead, she couldn't be. Gingerly he lifted her up, her shoulders cradled by his arm. He pressed his ear to her nose and the soft sound of her breathing was perhaps the sweetest thing he had ever heard. The man reached behind him, grabbing his discarded coat and wrapped it around her battered form. "You've got to hold on Cwmfen. I'm going to help you I just need you to stay with me." There was a desperate note in his voice that had never been there before. He moved his other arm to cradle her behind her knees and then gingerly he rose back up, leaving the room and the dead man behind.
As he walked that distance the overwhelming sense of failure descended upon him. He had killed Corvus, but not before he had had his way with Cwmfen. He had failed her and failed miserably. He had not fulfilled his promise to her and he had never felt so awful. Feeling her limp form in his arms almost made him want to cry. The man had never cried. Not since that day he had almost died at his mother's jaws. But crying now would not help her, and help she needed. Carefully he climbed the stairs towards his apartment, making sure not to jostle her around. Once he reached his room he walked and placed her on the bed, dark eyes searching her face. "Cwmfen wake up...please..."
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500+
There was darkness, a Dreamless void that was between sleep and wakefulness. She felt as if, suddenly, an oppressive weight had been lifted from her, as if that heavy presence had been removed. Her shallow breathing was allowed some measure of comfort, a soft sigh breathed in the suddenly silent air. But in the darkness, she struggled to return to the light, to the world in which she should be existing. But then a voice lifted her from it, calling her name—it was a familiar sound, a familiar voice that made her have the strength to open her eyes. Suddenly, the world seemed real. She knew what must have happened. She knew which soul must have departed. She knew, she knew that it must be those things, but she could see nothing yet. Her eyes were open, but the world was dark—or were her eyes open? Those strong arms lifted her, held her, and her soul could be at ease. The sharp pains of her body, numbed by that loss of blood, were soothed by that gentle touch. Onus, her mind recalled. But as he wrapped something of warmth about her, she slipped back into the darkness, this time able to sleep. His words followed her into the dark, and she held on, grasping his voice so that she could keep Death at bay for him.
Her consciousness was aware that she was being carried, but she her body was limp and unresponsive. His warmth enveloped her, and her mind Dreamed. She learned that it had not been her purpose to kill Corvus, that purpose had merely bid her to confront him. She had, but what could she have done in that wounded state, she asked the darkness. A soft glow manifested about her, and she spoke to a nameless, formless entity, taken in by the shape of a pied Raven. But that had not been the type of confrontation that was required of her, the voice continued. And the woman, in the silence, understood. The darkness was allowed to persist, but it was no longer oppressive but the comfortable darkness with which she was familiar.
Once more the voice of Onus called to her. For a long moment, the woman was still, as if the shattered pieces of her consciousness here pulled together by her struggling will. At length, her eyes did open, slowly and only partially. Her breathing did not change, as if she had never been sleeping or were not even awake. And slowly, as the world came into focus, the words finally reached coherency within her mind. Her eyes looked up at him, and that was all that she could do. A great emotion overwhelmed her, but what it was she could not say. Was it sadness? Was it regret? Or was it repentance? The warrior could not describe how beautiful that moment was to her, to awaken from that nightmare to find him there before her. "Onus," she breathed, her voice unable to manifest. Slowly her head turned away and her eyes closed, a single tear escaping the eye hidden now by the sheets of the bed. It had been the first in a long time. A quiet sigh escaped her.
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The man knelt there, looking at her, willing her eyes to open. He had not expected it to be this bad. For her to look this bad. He had tried to his best to keep the possibility that this would happen to her from his mind, but when it had seeped in he had never imagined she would be so harmed. Wounds riddled her body and her blood loss was severe. He had no idea how many times Corvus had...used her. Abused her. Onus had to will the moisture away from his eyes. I promised her. I promised her and failed and look what happened. He would never forgive himself for this. The image of her like this would always haunt him and remind him of his biggest failure. Even his victory over the devil was overshadowed by his unbelievable guilt.
But then her eyes opened and he had never been happier to see those two moons. She breathed his name, though her voice was barely there. But her face turned from him and his chest seized. "Cwmfen, I..." Onus ground his teeth and had to resist the urge to punch through the floorboards beneath him. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I...I failed you..." The vigilante had never apologized for anything in his life. Had never felt this crippling guilt and loss of self worth. She meant the world to him and yet he had been unable to protect her. Her nightmare was gone now, but it had already done what it wanted with her. Her body was battered and broken and he only hoped that her spirit wasn't in the same condition. If it was it was his fault. Her being like this at all was his fault. All his efforts to prevent this had turned to ash.
He rose up, knowing he couldn't sit there and mope. She needed medical attention. He was no healer, but he had a basic knowledge. How to tie tourniquets, cleanse wounds, bandage, and sew up those that needed it. His stitching was awful, but there was no time to find her anyone else. He moved to his emergency kit in the kitchen of the room. He took out clean cloths, alcohol, bandages, a thread and needle and poured some water he had bottled into a shallow bowl. Onus returned to the bedside with the supplies. He placed one hand under her head, lifting it up and holding the edge of the bowl to her lips. "You need to drink, at least a little." After that he soaked a few cloths in alcohol. "I'm sorry I don't have any painkillers, and this is going to hurt." As tenderly as he could he began to dab at her wounds with the alcohol soaked cloth. He wished he didn't have to do this. She had suffered so much already. But if he didn't she would die.
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500+
Her body felt dirty, violated. Not a single wound upon her body had been made by the crow wolf, and that was what troubled the warrior. He had only used her weakness against her, and now her body was bruised because of it. Corvus had branded the place where once Onus had kissed her. On her inner left thigh, the hanja for “Darkness” had been burned into her skin, and the wound was still red and bleeding, angry and festering. He had raped her, first to show her that she was his. Then he had raped her to spread his seed within in her, and continued to do so. Her body had betrayed her mind, delighting in the climatic pleasures of the flesh. Even her voice had called out. And Onus had seen it.... If only she had been safely dead at the jaws of Brennt.
The woman could feel his sadness and his guilt, and it spread within her like water that could not be contained. She wanted to reach out to him, to touch his face. She wanted to tell him that it was okay, that he had not failed her. What had happened had already been written—but she knew that he did not believe in Fate as she did. She was alive, and he had saved her from a far graver fate. She would have suffered the same fate as her mother, trapped in a single space, the freedom of her soul destroyed so that she could live only to raise a child. And then Death would have come to relieve her shattered soul that had yearned for freedom. But that was no longer her Fate. Onus had lifted her from that shadowed path. Whatever lay before her now must be better.... She wanted to tell him that, but silence closed her throat and weariness weighed her down. Her hand twitched, but he had already turned away to retrieve something from the kitchen. The woman sighed in resignation and in defeat, closing her eyes once more against the bright world. She wanted to rest, to close her eyes and allow her body to heal. But her eyes kept opening because the sight of her lover was a gift that had been given amidst the darkness.
She drank the water that he brought to her, her white eyes opened slightly as if to see. Her teeth clinked against the bowl as her tongue received the purging liquid. She felt cleaned, as if there had been something repulsive in her mouth, but she could not remember if there had been. Whatever it was, it was washed away, and her parched mouth was quenched. And just enough was taken before Onus set the dish aside. She was still as she lay upon that bed. She breathed quietly, but there was no strength left within her. He warned her about the pain, and she responded in silence, unable to find the will to speak. Her eyes moved, watching him faintly through those half-lidded eyes. The sharp, stinging pain shocked her dulled consciousness, but there was only a sharp intake of breath. Her body did not recoil because it could not. Her eyes closed, though not against the pain, for surely this was nothing compared to what her body had felt. With her eyes closed, another tear fell before she could hold them back, and she used the pain of the alchohol upon her wounds as an excuse.
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The coyote wanted to hear her voice, though he knew she didn't have the strength for it. His chest felt empty, void of something. But he knew what that something was. He couldn't even feel the organ beat anymore, even though it was evidenced by the continued weeping of blood from his shoulder and arms. He wondered if things would ever be the same. While nothing could change how he felt towards her, he didn't know if it was the same for her. Maybe his failure to protect her had changed the way she thought of him. Maybe she didn't want to be around a male anymore in any type of intimate setting. Onus wouldn't be able to blame her if that were the case. The man had seen what happened with rape victims. Their response was only logical, though to be separated from her would break him.
He was thankful she was able to drink the water. It was important. With all the blood loss she would be incredibly dehydrated. She needed to replenish her liquids. While it had been expected, at the sharp intake of her breath he winced and his ears fell back against his head. Though her body didn't recoil or flinch. That was only because of how weak she was though. He noticed her eyes close and the tear that fell from them. Was it the pain or something else? That was a foolish question though. She wasn't the type to cry from any physical pain. Onus heaved a sigh and continued to clean and disinfect the wounds. He was thankful to see that most of them were superficial. There was a large one on her leg though. It would needed to be stitched up. After he had cleaned that one he saw the burned marks on her inner thigh. That bastard... Lightly he put his hand on the outside of that thigh. "I need to clean this burn too." Even in her weakened state it was plausible that she would try and fight off any touch so close to the place she had been abused.
Finally finished with that task, he threw the bloodied cloths in the trash and disinfected his own hands with some alcohol. I suppose I should pour some on my own. Quickly he poured the clear, strong smelling liquid over his shoulder and arms, clenching his teeth as it burned and cleansed them. Then he picked up the needle and soaked it for a moment or two in the alcohol as well. Carefully he threaded it and moved to start stitching on her leg. "This on your leg needs to be stitched up, the one on your neck as well." Onus didn't know if talking her through it helped her at all or made it worse, but it was all he could think to do. His stitching was clumsy, but it would suffice. Finished with her leg he moved to her neck. He held the uninjured side as his needle worked to close the skin back up.
The last thing was to bandage up the wounds that needed it. He wrapped the gauze around her neck and leg, protecting what he had stitched back together. A couple other places needed wrapping to, but the rest would be find to heal on their own. He moved to refill the bowl with water and brought it back to her, propping her head up as he had before and bringing it to her mouth. "Drink some more. Then you should probably try and sleep, if you can." Now that he had done all he could for her he would need to wrap his own injuries, at least as best he could. His arms wouldn't be a problem, but the shoulder might have to just wait.
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