Kratos could feel his lightning craving her as she came to him, how it ached to weave itself within hers once again. He could feel its hunger, its need and it began to try to pull him to her as his power recognized her own and when her electricity came to link itself with his own the sky was cracked open and the ground shook beneath the immensity of their union. The initial impact staggered the titan for a moment – her strength, their strength, ripping a feral, vehement cry from his throat as it ravaged through his frame. And when their storm abandoned the sky to crawl back into their chests, he threw his heavy white head back and let out a laugh that was too much like his dragon-king father’s. She was stronger now, the intensity of her powers raged through his veins like a wildfire and Kratos liked to burn.
His eyes are smoldering beneath a long black forelock when she steps from the Jungle, “cat?” He asks, his voice is husky and heavy, as was his eyes as he bridged the gap of space between them. “Where’s that tail of yours?” He questions, stopping at her shoulder, he wants to drip lightning over her skin, lick it across her honeyed flesh but he keeps it inside, lets it riot against his ribs deep down in his chest. “Tell me,” he says, his voice is low and almost purring in a predatory way, “are you still innocent?”
K R A T OS
vanquish x lyric
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 and when I breathed, my breath was lightning She is now stronger now. Perhaps she was always been strong and just never knew it, was never able to finally let herself out. Taught to keep it all in as a child, how could she know what her strength really was? She spent her first year of life pretending to be someone she wasn’t, and then even after that, she spent so many years afraid that everyone else she came into contact with would fear her as well.
It wasn’t until Brunhild that Rhy learned what she truly was. Electric and amazing. The mare that had taken a bolt of lightning to the ass just to know what it felt like, to know what Rhy could do. Scorch might be her replacement, but Scorch had not proven herself to be Brunhild. Perhaps she would, but perhaps for Rhy, it would be impossible to fill those shoes. How can you replace the horse that taught you how to be you?
At least, she was the beginning to understand herself. And then Kratos would come around, and she came alive.
She was different being with him all together. Completely and wholly herself, just steps away from him with sparks flying off her skin. Cat? he asks, and her tail shifts to her lions tail, her eyes shift to those feline eyes and she growls low and rumbling. Then he asks his question. Always with him, death and innocence and destruction. She grins slightly, something feral and feline about it now. She lifts a hoof and watches as it turns to a paw, claws sprouting from between her padded toes.
She swipes the paw across his chest. Not hard, but enough to leave three bleeding scratches across his chest. “Now I’m not.” She knows there are many types of innocent. And truthfully, she is still innocent. But she also knows Kratos, and suspect the sight of blood and a bit of playfulness might amuse him.
rhy the electric lioness of riagan and rayelle
He hated the way she was always holding back, bottling her powers up and tapering down their possibilities – as if she as ashamed of her eminence. But Kratos knows what she is, what she’s capable of and he will not allow her to bury her greatness away behind propriety and polish. The Jungle was mostly known for its warrior women, there was no lack of power in the magical forest. But he doubted that there were any mares within its depths that could truly match Rhy, if she was so inclined. But she was far too velvet-hearted, too gracious to take her claim – too unlike Kratos.
So when her sweet doe eyes shift to slits that stalk him with a predator’s gleam, a wicked smile curls his lips. His muscles clench in anticipation as she changes, cold adrenaline pumping through him – he did not fear her, it was merely his body’s instinctual reaction to her presence. In this form, as she not a predator and he, her prey?
He feels her tear into his chest and he does not pull away but instead, he leans into her, pushing her claws deeper into his white chest, an amused laugh ringing out past his lips. “Come on kitty,” he taunts and despite his low tone, his voice is anything but soft, “make it hurt.” He riles, ignoring the blood that seeped from his torn flesh and had begun to paint his long white legs red, “I know you want to.” But he doesn’t know, Rhy is a still a paradox to him – sometimes he can feel her desire to visit the depths that he goes to, perhaps he just needs to pull it out. He aches to open her up and when he sends a small tendril of lightning to slide across her hip (it didn’t linger long, just enough to singe her hairs and taste her flesh), he hopes that what she returns back to him will be raw and new.
K R A T OS
vanquish x lyric
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and when I breathed, my breath was lightning They all fear her. That’s the truth of it. Even though they pretend they don’t, even though they tolerate her well enough, even though some of them are her friends. But they all keep their distance. They have learned that touching her is equivalent, more often than not, to pain. They all flinch when she slinks through the Jungle in her lioness form; they all look a moment too long. She knows that she scares them, and there’s a part of her that revels in it while the rest of her feels alienated and strange and wrong.
She doesn’t know exactly who she is anymore than Kratos does. But she wonders sometimes. Wonders who she might have become if she didn’t follow in her grandmother’s footsteps. Wonders what she might do if life had taken her to the Valley instead of the Jungle, or if she had simply stayed in the Dale. She could have been so very different. She still could be. She could see Scorch’s point of view, could see where an alliance with the Valley and the Chamber might be fun. They could rule Beqanna so easily, with those three forces combined.
Being with him though, she’s alive. Whatever, whoever she may be. She knows that she’s alive.
His blood is warm as it seeps between her padded toes, his flesh beneath her claws is soft and delicate in comparison. He leans closer, towering over her and yet she’s still as powerful as he is despite her smaller size. She laughs as he calls her kitty, laughs again as the lightning singes the hairs on her hip. Beautiful gold and white marred by what she really is, a patch of truth on her so carefully crafted mask.
The lightning trickles through her leg, through each claw, directly into his skin, seeping into the flesh and muscle and blood, pumping through him now like a current. If he were anyone else, he’d already be dead. But instead, she only makes him stronger, leaning closer to him so her breath is a breeze against his neck, laced with sparks that dance along his skin. She pulls back, finally removing the claws from his skin, her foot a hoof again, and she grins as the sky cracks. Again and again. Waiting for him.
rhy the electric lioness of riagan and rayelle
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