01-25-2020, 03:09 AM
<link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Nothing+You+Could+Do" rel="stylesheet"><style> #titanbackground{position:relative;z-index:1;width:550px; padding:20px;padding-top:40px;padding-bottom:0px; background:#171514 url('https://s22.postimg.cc/j9sn3wp01/ramiel_cliff.jpg')no-repeat;background-size:100%; box-shadow:0px 0px 15px #000;border:2px solid white;border-bottom:0px;} #titancontainer{position:relative;z-index:3;width:500px;margin-top:300px;padding:2px;background:#b1baaa;box-shadow:0px 0px 0px #000;opacity:0.6;border:2px solid white;border-top:0px;border-bottom:0px;}#container p{margin:0;} #titanmessage{position:relative; z-index:10;text-align:justify; padding:30px 20px 10px 20px; font:12px 'Times new roman', serif; line-height:1.25; color:#020a20;}#titanname{position:relative;bottom:30px;font:42px;font-family: 'Nothing You Could Do', cursive; text-shadow:4px 4px 4px rgba(0,0,0,0.3); color:#000;letter-spacing:16px;text-align:center;}#titanquote1{z-index:35;position:absolute;top:280px;left:42px;color:#fff;font:30px 'Georgia', cursive;opacity:0.7;}#titanquote2{z-index:35;position:relative;margin-top:-10px;color:#020a20;font:16px 'Georgia', cursive;opacity:0.8}</style><center><div id="titanbackground"><p id="titanquote1"></i></i>COR</p><div id="titanimg"></p></div><div id="titancontainer"><div id="titangradient"></div><p id="titanmessage">The warmth of his sire’s spilled blood disappears as the darkness closes around him. He floats and there is no warmth, no light, no feeling, and no <i>pain.</i> It is glorious, this blackness that is devoid of all the cacophony of battle and betrayal he’s only just survived. But it doesn’t last. Seemingly in the next heartbeat, the heavy fog lifts and he is back on the warfield.
Cor rolls his shoulders, tests his movements and muscles and is relieved to find they are restored to their former health. His breath, too, comes easily and without the telltale stabbing pain of broken ribs. <i>Great,</i> he thinks, his eyes darting around him, <i>repaired and ready to what ends now?</i> Very quickly, the question is answered for him.
He steps out from between the pillars this time. Or rather, the Plains version of himself does. Cor wonders if he is similarly handicapped without his shapeshifting. <b>“Mother never told me I have a twin,”</b> he calls out by way of greeting, knowing that pleasantries would be useless here. <b>“What do you say, want to skip this part and get acquainted at the meadow instead? Grab a squirrel or two? We can share?”</b>
The Plains imposter grins lopsidedly in his identical face before lowering his head. Cor knows what is coming next. He’s been sizing him up since he saw him, and he knows a shift when it is about to happen. The imposter melts from horse to lion effortlessly, snaking his head further down and breathing in the scent of his opponent. He is built for hunting in the open stretch of plains and he charges Cor without hesitation, his big paws eating up the solid ground as he nears his prey.
Cor fights his instinct to flee at first. He swallows the rising fear in his throat and lowers his head and horns, bracing himself against the impact. But he’s not used to being hunted. He’s always been the predator stalking his prey, fearless against the clutches of dismemberment and death. Both his shifting and immortality have always been his shield against such mortal terrors, but they’ve left him in this blood-soaked place. Now, he’s like any other prey creature helpless against the ruthless jaws of the abyss. He doesn’t like the feeling.
Cor loses his nerve at the last second and leaps to the side. He kicks out at the lion’s left side as he jumps to the right, managing to land a blow on the feline’s shoulder. Imposter Cor yowls at the contact but pivots easily to chase his retreating form. The stallion tries to get to the pillars, intending to use them as a barrier to slow the cat down, but the lion is at his haunches in a few short strides.
He wraps his forearms around Cor’s rump, securing his position by digging into his flesh with his claws and trying to bite into his back. The horse can feel the predator leaning over him, trying to shift more of his weight over Cor’s back to try to bring him down to the ground. He gasps in pain and bucks as hard as he can several times in succession, attempting to dislodge his unwelcome tagalong. Cor feels his hindquarters snap the lion’s jaw closed with the force of his movement. It slides partially off of him, raking ribbons of skin down both sides of his flanks. He takes the brief hesitation to spin around, this time lowering his horns and standing his ground with shaking legs.
The gold of the lion’s gaze is impassive as it regards him. It is the assured hunter’s confidence of a kill to come. Cor knows the look well and he means to drive it from his face. So, too, does he mean to drive the beast back. He takes a few steps forward and the lion complies in reverse. It seems to be working until it doesn’t. The lion swats a powerful paw at his horns, pushing Cor’s head to the side and leaving him exposed and vulnerable for the span of a heartbeat.
It turns out, a heartbeat is all the time it takes.
The predator lunges and clamps its jaws around Cor’s neck, his canines sinking in to the horse’s jugular vein. The stallion buckles, falling to his knees and scrambling against the hold. But it is futile. His own blood warms him this time. It leaves him quickly, much too quickly, as the darkness comes to fetch him again.<br><br></p><p id="titanname"></p><p id="titanquote2"></p></p><br></div></div></center>
Cor rolls his shoulders, tests his movements and muscles and is relieved to find they are restored to their former health. His breath, too, comes easily and without the telltale stabbing pain of broken ribs. <i>Great,</i> he thinks, his eyes darting around him, <i>repaired and ready to what ends now?</i> Very quickly, the question is answered for him.
He steps out from between the pillars this time. Or rather, the Plains version of himself does. Cor wonders if he is similarly handicapped without his shapeshifting. <b>“Mother never told me I have a twin,”</b> he calls out by way of greeting, knowing that pleasantries would be useless here. <b>“What do you say, want to skip this part and get acquainted at the meadow instead? Grab a squirrel or two? We can share?”</b>
The Plains imposter grins lopsidedly in his identical face before lowering his head. Cor knows what is coming next. He’s been sizing him up since he saw him, and he knows a shift when it is about to happen. The imposter melts from horse to lion effortlessly, snaking his head further down and breathing in the scent of his opponent. He is built for hunting in the open stretch of plains and he charges Cor without hesitation, his big paws eating up the solid ground as he nears his prey.
Cor fights his instinct to flee at first. He swallows the rising fear in his throat and lowers his head and horns, bracing himself against the impact. But he’s not used to being hunted. He’s always been the predator stalking his prey, fearless against the clutches of dismemberment and death. Both his shifting and immortality have always been his shield against such mortal terrors, but they’ve left him in this blood-soaked place. Now, he’s like any other prey creature helpless against the ruthless jaws of the abyss. He doesn’t like the feeling.
Cor loses his nerve at the last second and leaps to the side. He kicks out at the lion’s left side as he jumps to the right, managing to land a blow on the feline’s shoulder. Imposter Cor yowls at the contact but pivots easily to chase his retreating form. The stallion tries to get to the pillars, intending to use them as a barrier to slow the cat down, but the lion is at his haunches in a few short strides.
He wraps his forearms around Cor’s rump, securing his position by digging into his flesh with his claws and trying to bite into his back. The horse can feel the predator leaning over him, trying to shift more of his weight over Cor’s back to try to bring him down to the ground. He gasps in pain and bucks as hard as he can several times in succession, attempting to dislodge his unwelcome tagalong. Cor feels his hindquarters snap the lion’s jaw closed with the force of his movement. It slides partially off of him, raking ribbons of skin down both sides of his flanks. He takes the brief hesitation to spin around, this time lowering his horns and standing his ground with shaking legs.
The gold of the lion’s gaze is impassive as it regards him. It is the assured hunter’s confidence of a kill to come. Cor knows the look well and he means to drive it from his face. So, too, does he mean to drive the beast back. He takes a few steps forward and the lion complies in reverse. It seems to be working until it doesn’t. The lion swats a powerful paw at his horns, pushing Cor’s head to the side and leaving him exposed and vulnerable for the span of a heartbeat.
It turns out, a heartbeat is all the time it takes.
The predator lunges and clamps its jaws around Cor’s neck, his canines sinking in to the horse’s jugular vein. The stallion buckles, falling to his knees and scrambling against the hold. But it is futile. His own blood warms him this time. It leaves him quickly, much too quickly, as the darkness comes to fetch him again.<br><br></p><p id="titanname"></p><p id="titanquote2"></p></p><br></div></div></center>