"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
A wicked grin plastered across her face, fearless. Delusional. He always seemed to say things like that to her, his only ammo to her truth. She was born for this. His powerful laughter rattled in her chest, pounded against her ribs as though it came from within her and threatened to rip her apart to escape.
His great wings stretched, arms of a demon, and came for her. He let her see it come, as she stood protectively before the boy. His spikes reached toward her neck. She stepped forward to take the hit against the bone of her shoulder, moving far enough from the boy to be sure he wasn't caught in the crossfire, and was slammed to the ground at his little feet. Part of her was pleased, she needed to build her stamina and Deimos was her strongest opponent. He would increase her endurance, make her stronger.
The puncture instantly tried to heal over his metal talons as he spoke. Life or delusions. She grit her teeth and pushed back with all her force, lifting enough to sit up and burn him in her glare. Corrupter! she growled, spitting at his feet. Damn fool would turn the boy over, take advantage of his vulnerability. Keep him until he was no longer useful. Not today, beast!
The colt asked if she could come with them and she laughed bitterly. You won't like what he has planned for you. And I'll not allow it, she added firmly, directed at Deimos. She pushed against his might again, but was pinned soundly. Her head whipped around and snapped at his grip on her, trying to clamp down on his bony appendage and force him to release her. It was her turn to taste him, this time.
Don't follow him, she warned low. Didn't he see the man's cruelty enough already? The colt needed her whether he realized it or not, and she was his. She would not be discharged until he was safe. Her eyes burned with a challenge. This bastard needed to be sent back to hell once and for all. Let's end this. She moved to stand.
01-12-2017, 05:46 PM (This post was last modified: 01-12-2017, 05:47 PM by Deimos.)
Deimos was undeterred by the coming of the ramblings of a religious fanatic. He snarls, pushing back with his wings, dislodging himself from her, leaning back with his front hoof, allowing his talons to grasp full the tender flesh of Raeg’n’s body. They pulse and thrum with satisfaction, and when Death lowers his wings—what a fitting epithet—the blizzard stops and the fog breaks. He eyes Kilter, his gravelly voice finally breaking the silence that has moved in from the dull roar of the wind until now. Raeg’n is forgotten—her presence here is of no consequence. Just another holistic bitch on a crusade.
Nothing more.
“Pangea boy. A home, if you want it.” He spits the word home. This is not his forte. Deimos is normally in the business of breaking souls, than he is of building them up again. But Kilter is useful—more so than he knows. “But do not make me ask you again. Normally I would be digging your grave and dancing upon it. Do not look a charity horse in the mouth.”
Only then does he turn to the little girl on the floor, making snow angels here in the forest. The son of Mars smiles darkly, intent on his quarry—his mind knowing that she wanted him in a way that made her quaint, perfect, virgin little thighs tremble with wontonness. The Hussy. He knew it.
She knew it.
She hated it.
And so, Keeping in mind what Kilter had asked, Deimos reaches down to where the blue girl lay in the snow, and picks her up by the withers…. Placing a sever bite below her hairline. She bleeds blue blood, and Deimos smiles. “Mine” he says with a smirk.
“Will Heaven want you now that you have been marked by the Devil?”
He does not turn away from her, but throws his voice back to the boy. “She comes with us.”
She is a barrier of life and death – She is the wall of conscience that divides Kilter’s history. She plunges herself before him, not shying away from the pain that Death aims towards her. He is an insignificant thing to be protecting. Why him? The devoid child of a magician and a Jurassic queen. Why had Death and the Angel chosen to step into his life? Why did Death want to give him a second chance? And why did the Angel warn him not to take it?
He is startled as the Angel falls before him, her dark body contrasting painfully with the snow, but she did not falter. She held no fear in her voice as she challenged Death, and Kilter slunk behind her with wide eyes – this was something unlike he’d seen before. Their voices carry spite and malice; each a flavor of their own. They each held battle for the little telekinetic life – but why? Kilter had never been wanted by anyone before – family or no. And now? Now here Death was tugging him one way, and his Angel warning him the other.
Kilter startles with a cringe as Death’s hoof finds purchase in his Angel – but she seems to pay it no mind, just as Death ignores her. Instead, Death speaks to him, of a home (something that Kilter had not had in far too long, or even ever, perhaps). Death’s warning is hurled towards the wolf child, and he steps back timidly, his eyes flicking to the Angel before him. Death had seemed so kindly to him at the start, and now his voice was tremoring with a bite – perhaps almost not even giving Kilter the option to say no.
And now Death turns to his Angel, so dark against the pallid ground. He marks her, and Kilter can almost taste the blood in his mouth as his Angel’s skin splits with teeth. But she was to come with them, Death said, to a place called Pangea.
Kilter steps forward, small and uncertain – how this afternoon did not quite align with what he thought would happen. Death is faced away from him, his wings lowered and his attention caught on the grounded Angel. Kilter speaks to him, his voice low to hide the tremble. “Then I will go.”
Kilter was not many things. He was not powerful like his father, he was not cunning like his mother- but he was gentle and kindred, like the man who had watched him from the woods. He steps beside Death, his body seemingly tiny beside him. “Come on, my Angel. He will show us the way. I will walk beside you.” He steps closer, his head lowered as if to lick her wounds, and whispers quietly “You will always be a part of Heaven.” For Kilter knew what it was like to lose the only place you felt like home.
She was livid and it reflected in her hot glare. He plucked her off the ground like some weightless ragdoll, gripping her shoulders and holding her in place useless before him. And then he smiled. Uh oh. That's not good.
Her breath caught as he moved in --hot breath, soft lips, sharp bite-- and once again he tasted her blood. Tangy and sweet, laced with the tingling spice of her magic. It flashed within her body, and even before he spoke she was healed again, only an eerie shade of blue blood marking where he had been. No pain. "Mine," he claimed as he pulled away enough to meet her eyes again. An electric chill shot through her at what she saw in them. Heat. Craving.
"Then I will go." Softly spoken, her boy consented as he stepped next to the beast and examined her. "Come on, my Angel. He will show us the way. I will walk beside you." Her heart sank. She was failing him. This devil had already began his poison of corruption, fooled the boy into trusting him. A guilty part of her didn't want to correct him when he called her Angel. She didn't deserve that title, had yet to earn it. But it felt good. So she ignored it for now, neither confirming nor denying the name.
His head reached for the blood still lying against her navy skin. She gasped quietly and jerked away. No need. I heal, she said shortly to fend him off. Her blood was a potent tonic, she was learning. Addictive. He would taste, and he would crave more. She didn't think the beast even realized his own addiction yet. More secrets to keep. A pang of guilt followed, hoping she hadn't seemed offended. His kindness toward her sunk deeper than she'd let it be known. Show no weakness. But he only melted her further with his affirmation: "you will always be a part of Heaven." She smiled sadly at him in thanks.
He was good, he was kind. And this bastard was going to take that from him, rape it, murder it. Warp him into something else. Damn straight, she was going with them. She would not allow him to be broken; she would be his shield from the darkness.
Release me. I will walk. Her eyes were hard when she met the devil's again, if not the barest touch cloudier. Her resolve was absolute, she would come along. But her heart broke for what she left behind. Lauchlan. He was all she had in this world. Her friend wouldn't know what happened to her. All that would be left of her passing was a spot of blue blood in the snow. And her bumbling fool probably wouldn't even find it, her silly Lauchlan. She felt the painful prick of tears behind her eyes and firmly shoved him from her mind.
01-13-2017, 05:44 PM (This post was last modified: 01-13-2017, 05:50 PM by Deimos.)
He drops Raeg’n with an unceremonious plop back into the snow, and turns to Kilter. “Go to Pangea and meet us there. Should you come across any others, deal with them as you feel the need. The Angel and I need to have a talk. She will not be far behind you.” He stares on, agitated from having fallen into a miniature family unit—when all he wanted to do was take the boy’s body and use it against his father. Now, he was stuck playing house to a boy who was merely a marionette, and a fanatical bible-thumping wife.
Fucking great.
He waits for the boy to retreat obediently—for what else can he do?—and Deimos moves in to make contact with Raeg’n. His red eyes level her, and he finds that for the first time, he is direct. No games, no smoke. No billowing, no gravelly voice. His wings go silent, and obedient—and he is, for the moment, a man.
A very angry man.
“What the fuck is your problem? Do you even know my name?” He takes a breath, and comes in closer, warping his wings around her, examining the bite, breathing his hot exhale over her body, the talons of his fingers tenderly pulling her mane apart to examine his handiwork. “It will heal.”
His voice has turned to honey—warm and sticky sweet. It was a ruse. Surely she would know that. But he knows what she craves. And in the cradle of his embrace, he spins his web, drawing his little angel in. His wings; they play with her hair as he breathes over her body, watching the wounds he has inflicted close up and heal of their own volition.
A gentle touch—a lover’s caress.
His voice vibrates into her ears, warm and inviting, as he pulls her into himself, letting her feel the strength of him. Hard, fast, and powerful. He knows she is blushing. He does not care. “I know you want me,” he whispers to her, wrapping her in blue velvet, drawing his talons over her once more, turning her blue hide into silky satin, her mane and tail into pure gold. Decadent. Luxurious. “I have more power than you can imagine. And I know your every thought. So do not ever try to hide from me. I will find you, Kitten.” He purrs to her, enticing her evil side—knowing with security that she has one.
“If you are going to call me a Corrupter, you might let me start with you…where you want it most. And you can start with my name. ” That dark smile plasters his features once more.
"Deimos."
And with that he withdraws. His breath sliding over her one last time, letting her simmer in her own body. That heat she would learn to melt to--to quiver to.
"Go catch up to the boy. I will see you both soon. Pangea. Do not get lost. I will find you if you lose the path."
Wings open, and he catches the wind, pumping himself upwards, he takes to the sky, heading for the conifer forests. Business would take him from her... but he doubted he would be far from her thoughts.
He dropped her. She sprawled out in the snow, glaring at him through orange hair thrown across her face, her tail skirting her rump. He stared back at her, and demanded her boy go on ahead without them. No! She jumped to follow, but the beast stayed her. She seethed.
"What the fuck is your problem? Do you even know my name?"
She said nothing, her heart skipping. No, she didn't. She told herself she didn't give a damn what his name was. Devil worked just fine, fit him perfectly. And Beast. Then he moved in closer, wrapped his wings around her to check her wound. His hot breath kissed her, fingers brushing her hair back gently. "It will heal." It already had.
He was toying with her. Somehow her pulse didn't get that little memo and her body reacted naturally to his nearness, his tenderness. She swallowed. Stomach fluttering. Eyes wide and faultlessly innocent.
He pulled her in against him, every line of him flushed her skin. Yes, she definitely blushed. She'd never felt anyone, been held or touched like this. He knew it, used it against her. Played with her natural instincts and warped her into wanting him. It was a lie. A lie. A game. "I know you want me." She closed her eyes as if that could hide his success from him. She hated him for this. Hated herself for falling prey in his game.
"If you are going to call me a Corrupter, you might let me start with you...where you want it most. And you can start with my name."
His name. Deimos. It burned into her mind with the feel of his rough skin. She breathed. He slid away slowly, his breath stealing hers as it passed over her again. She hated him.
Her fury returned, pinning him uselessly with a glare as he lifted to the skies. She leapt up immediately to catch up to the boy, with a heavy secret weighing her down. He would crave her blood again. She would not be far from his thoughts. He would find them again.
