02-04-2017, 01:04 AM
Sleep. He needed sleep.
He would take it the only way he knew how, force the blackness to consume him. Battle and push himself until his mind lost grip, until unconsciousness claimed him and exhaustion overwhelmed his body. Fight until he collapsed.
He tucked Atrani away in the meadow. Just for now, just for long enough and then he would return for her. As quickly as he could. She was all he had left. She was his greatest treasure now. This would have to be quick, just a short rest. A nap, really. Until they were home, huddled in the darkness of his den in Ischia. The one where -no, don't think of her. He pushed his thoughts away, focused on what he needed to do. Just a little sleep. Just a little.
He walked to the forest, away from the sightless eyes of his child. She would know soon enough the darkness that was within him. He would get her safely home first.
Deep within the trees was a clearing, two mares grazing and not a soul else. Their gender was nothing to him, their innocence was nothing. He was ruthless, merciless. They were a means to an end, and nothing more. He needed sleep, needed the fight to force the blackness over him. Needed the energy from rest to take his daughter home. One would not be enough, he would take them both.
Black form prowled forward, lethal purpose in every line of his body. An eager light flared to life in his bloodshot eyes and his nostrils flared. He was sunken in, skin and bones with an ivory armor erupting out of him, but he had hidden strength in that frail body. A force of power forged and trained into him by his master, the magician. And today he would use it.
His blood pumped to his limbs, heated and warmed them into fluid movement despite his weariness. He approached them without a word or cry of warning, only the sound of his hoofbeats as he tore between them, lashing out violently with teeth to a dark shoulder covered in hair of cream. The emerald mare immediately came to her defense, and he let her kicks rail against him as he dug his teeth deeper into the dark one.
He broke the contact and drove out of them. He could have killed them swiftly, was trained to. But he needed the fight, needed the blackness to drag him under. So he extended their suffering. Let them chase him as he circled the green. The pale mane of the other slowly dripped red as it swept over the gaping wound. That one would be first, he decided, and he would keep the other healthy. Keep her able to fight back and push him under.
A snarl curled his lips as he cut his path suddenly, angling for the injured one again. The green moved to block him and he plowed into her without hesitation, gripped her mane and jerked her to the ground. The wounded dark kicked at his bare ribs, cracking one as he lunged instead for her. His jaws met only air, but he gave chase until he was able to snatch her shoulder and yank her off-balance. Before she could catch herself, he was on her again, bearing down and forcing her beneath him. He gripped her throat like a feral beast and tore it out.
The force of a cannon shot through his head, and he was knocked to the side at the emerald mare's kick to his face. But she was too late, there would be no rescue now. He shook the blur from his eyes, only to see her escaping from him. He lurched forward, the Arabian in his blood lending him the speed and agility necessary to overcome her. He chased, toyed with her, nipped at her flanks and drove her harder. Like a hound, he herded her back toward the other lying prone and bleeding out. It was only right that they die together. Probably.
Fatigue bled into him, and he knew it was time. He pushed himself to his limits, throwing himself against her with the full force of his strength. He had no care for his own health, and only just then realized his face was draining blood swiftly from her kick, spraying it all over her as they tumbled to the ground. Teeth sank into his neck where bone plates were missing and he hissed. He jerked from her hold and began to rise. Her head followed, aiming for another bite as he thought she might, and he kicked out straight for her temple. Her skull shattered beneath his power and she sank to the ground.
He stood between them, breathing heavily and bleeding. Pain tore through him but he felt none of it as he studied them, made sure they would not be rising to finish him as he lay vulnerable. But it was done. They were dead. He took a deep breath, filled with the metallic tang of blood and salty sweat, and his face smoothed, suddenly peaceful.
Unconsciousness finally came for him. The deep black rolled in to replace the weariness, and he collapsed in a pool of their mingled blood. A warm, wet blanket with a scent as familiar to him as his own. Peace. Rest.
It was short and restless. But it was sleep.
He would take it the only way he knew how, force the blackness to consume him. Battle and push himself until his mind lost grip, until unconsciousness claimed him and exhaustion overwhelmed his body. Fight until he collapsed.
He tucked Atrani away in the meadow. Just for now, just for long enough and then he would return for her. As quickly as he could. She was all he had left. She was his greatest treasure now. This would have to be quick, just a short rest. A nap, really. Until they were home, huddled in the darkness of his den in Ischia. The one where -no, don't think of her. He pushed his thoughts away, focused on what he needed to do. Just a little sleep. Just a little.
He walked to the forest, away from the sightless eyes of his child. She would know soon enough the darkness that was within him. He would get her safely home first.
Deep within the trees was a clearing, two mares grazing and not a soul else. Their gender was nothing to him, their innocence was nothing. He was ruthless, merciless. They were a means to an end, and nothing more. He needed sleep, needed the fight to force the blackness over him. Needed the energy from rest to take his daughter home. One would not be enough, he would take them both.
Black form prowled forward, lethal purpose in every line of his body. An eager light flared to life in his bloodshot eyes and his nostrils flared. He was sunken in, skin and bones with an ivory armor erupting out of him, but he had hidden strength in that frail body. A force of power forged and trained into him by his master, the magician. And today he would use it.
His blood pumped to his limbs, heated and warmed them into fluid movement despite his weariness. He approached them without a word or cry of warning, only the sound of his hoofbeats as he tore between them, lashing out violently with teeth to a dark shoulder covered in hair of cream. The emerald mare immediately came to her defense, and he let her kicks rail against him as he dug his teeth deeper into the dark one.
He broke the contact and drove out of them. He could have killed them swiftly, was trained to. But he needed the fight, needed the blackness to drag him under. So he extended their suffering. Let them chase him as he circled the green. The pale mane of the other slowly dripped red as it swept over the gaping wound. That one would be first, he decided, and he would keep the other healthy. Keep her able to fight back and push him under.
A snarl curled his lips as he cut his path suddenly, angling for the injured one again. The green moved to block him and he plowed into her without hesitation, gripped her mane and jerked her to the ground. The wounded dark kicked at his bare ribs, cracking one as he lunged instead for her. His jaws met only air, but he gave chase until he was able to snatch her shoulder and yank her off-balance. Before she could catch herself, he was on her again, bearing down and forcing her beneath him. He gripped her throat like a feral beast and tore it out.
The force of a cannon shot through his head, and he was knocked to the side at the emerald mare's kick to his face. But she was too late, there would be no rescue now. He shook the blur from his eyes, only to see her escaping from him. He lurched forward, the Arabian in his blood lending him the speed and agility necessary to overcome her. He chased, toyed with her, nipped at her flanks and drove her harder. Like a hound, he herded her back toward the other lying prone and bleeding out. It was only right that they die together. Probably.
Fatigue bled into him, and he knew it was time. He pushed himself to his limits, throwing himself against her with the full force of his strength. He had no care for his own health, and only just then realized his face was draining blood swiftly from her kick, spraying it all over her as they tumbled to the ground. Teeth sank into his neck where bone plates were missing and he hissed. He jerked from her hold and began to rise. Her head followed, aiming for another bite as he thought she might, and he kicked out straight for her temple. Her skull shattered beneath his power and she sank to the ground.
He stood between them, breathing heavily and bleeding. Pain tore through him but he felt none of it as he studied them, made sure they would not be rising to finish him as he lay vulnerable. But it was done. They were dead. He took a deep breath, filled with the metallic tang of blood and salty sweat, and his face smoothed, suddenly peaceful.
Unconsciousness finally came for him. The deep black rolled in to replace the weariness, and he collapsed in a pool of their mingled blood. A warm, wet blanket with a scent as familiar to him as his own. Peace. Rest.
It was short and restless. But it was sleep.
