Post by *Kanairu* on Dec 19, 2010 18:48:22 GMT -5
Haha... be prepared for a lot of images & writing. I'm dumping all the stories/art that I've written recently. Kudos to anyone that bothers to look/read.
Newest towards the top.
Warning for blood & mild swearing below this point!
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Nicky's tale
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The pain was horrific. There was blood across the floor, blood sticking his damp blond fringe to his sweaty forehead. Blood on the corpse before him, and blood on the boy facing him. This fight was for their lives, and only one would leave alive; they were both thinking the same thing. One down, one to go.
Nicky's younger face was contorted with rage as he sidestepped towards the taller, black haired boy. The other had the advantage of speed, size and weight. The only thing he had left was his brains. Thankfully it was well known that Brian wasn't the brightest bulb in the box... They had trained together, slept in the same dorm room and now they had to kill one another. If they hadn't been bitter rivals since day one, Nicky would feel almost regretful.
Baring their teeth like wild creatures, they circled, each with a precious short dagger clutched in their ruby-stained hands. They looked like polar opposites, across the ring from one another. One tall and thick-set, dark, with angular handsome features, cool and collected. The other short, delicate, with fair hair, a face more beautiful than handsome, and trembling hands. They had never killed before today, and they were handling the shock of the dead body in very different ways. Anger in one case, and horror in the other. Brian's emotions had been beaten flat by the training; after today, Nicky thought his would go the same way.
As they sidestepped around the ring, growling and refusing to lunge before the other did, they realised that the soft green eyes of their leader were fixed upon them. Scythe's gaze had been entirely occupied with the casual meeting taking place on the sidelines of the ritual fight, beforehand. Now he was looking at them with bored eyes, half closed eyelids making his "pretty" face seem very threatening, despite the calm expression. They both knew who he was, what he was capable of. And they were boring him.
They looked at one another. A moment of mutual understanding passed between them, breaking the barriers of hatred for just a moment.
The moment was over. They snarled.
They leapt.
Both expected the thick collision of bodies, the pain of it; and they braced themselves, rolling as they crashed together, trying to get the advantage to use their weapons. Neither could gain it, even though one had the clear advantage. Nicky's arm was preventing Brian's knife being brought up, and Brian's body was crushing the smaller boy's hand against his own chest. The impasse continued, lasting minutes as they thrashed across the ring, trying to break free or break the other. Neither was winning and both knew that sooner or later they would tire, disappoint the blond man watching them with more interest.
Suddenly, Nicky spotted his opening. Brian's arm had moved a little and now... SMASH. Nicky's forehead almost broke the other boy's nose with the impact. Through the pain of his head, the little teenager knew by a pained howl that the reckless move had been worth it. The weight on his body was gone, and he could scramble to his nimble feet; the other was curled in a ball on the floor, whimpering with hands over his face.
Advancing with his knife gripped tightly, the blond boy thought it was time to finish it. There would be no point in prolonging the other's sufferi-
Hands wrapped around his ankles, pulled him forwards and sent him flailing to the ground, banging the back of his head roughly on a wooden board of the ring's floor. Careless! He'd forgotten that Brian could be cunning in a corner, if artless with his techniques. The larger boy was already flinging himself towards the blond; only a quick thought brought his legs up in time to protect his stomach. A scream wrenched itself from his throat anyway, as his legs were sliced with the knife... It was not a deep slash, but blood welled up through his damaged cotton trousers nonetheless. He didn't have much time to admire the wound, as he was crawling away from the other's attacks, quickly brought his elbow back as he did, to almost hit Brian in the face again. It didn't connect, but it bought him a second to collect himself.
Once more they were facing each other in the ring, panting and hissing softly. Brian was swaying a little, and Nicky's legs were trembling. The fight had lasted only five minutes, but it seemed like they had spent a lifetime trying to kill one another. The taller boy's icy blue eyes were fogged with confusion, and possibly a little concussion; Nicky's green orbs were clear, but filled with pain.
He didn't want to fight anymore. He didn't want to have to kill! He looked longingly at the leaders, sat to one side of the ring. If only they'd call off the fight, change the ritual. He was only here because...
Scythe's head tilted slowly, and both boys' heads jerked up, watching him in awe. He was the leader of leaders, the only man that they would answer to one day... If one of them ever proved themself.
With that thought in mind, they leapt again. This time, it was obvious who would win, as Brian tumbled Nicky to the floor, sitting over him. For a second, anyway. They rolled again, the blond's fear of death giving him enough strength to throw the other off. It still wasn't enough to win himself a place of honour, and it never would be until he dirtied his hands once more with blood. They had both taken it in the turns to weaken the other boy, Richie, until he had fallen easily to a joint attack. They only ever wanted to face one another. They had a worthy opponent, that way. They could die with pride, if taken down by someone of equal strength, rather than the pale, sickly boy that they had dispatched just a few minutes earlier.
Blood spurted as Nicky's knife found a home in Brian's dagger arm... He had lost the dagger, as it was wrenched from the wound by the howling boy. He was unarmed, but his enemy was injured. Was it worth it? He didn't really think so, since now the other was approaching quickly, before the loss of blood weakened him too much, a knife tightly in each hand. The fight, the murderous look in Brian's eyes was enough to terrify the smaller boy to his very soul. He wasn't ready for this! He hadn't been trained enough; he wasn't ready to die, either. But death was upon him, and he would die fighting.
A snarl readied itself at his lips, the fire coming back into his own eyes. The elder made a pass; it was easily avoided, a clumsy jab with the knife. Nicky grabbed his arm, pulled him closer and made to take the knife. Of course, it didn't come from his hand and Brian was stronger. The other knife was coming around, towards his stomach and he prepared to die, everything moving in slow motion.
"STOP. Halt the fight!"
They froze, blinking in the spotlights. Nicky's ragged breathing was easily heard, rasping over Brian's hair as their bodies remained disbelievingly pressed together. A fight had never been halted before. They were both wondering if they had done something wrong. Dreading the next words, but thanking all the Gods that whatever that came would not be the knife, Nicky looked up to see... Scythe, hands on the barrier to the ring, his lip curled up angrily, eyes anxious.
"I said stop. That means drop one another."
They violently disentangled, knives thrown to the floor and glares thrown just as viciously. If looks could kill, they would both be stone cold dead a long time ago, as they had perfected the art of the disapproving glare at the rival.
Now that they were apart, the leader very slowly trailed his delicate hand along to find the latch of the barrier, and glided just as elegantly into the ring to stand between them. He was tiny, shorter than Nicky by a head and twice that amount shorter than Brian. Even so, just the way he moved seemed to scream warnings; he was dangerous, and not afraid to let people know it. They looked down, showing extreme respect for the man. He was more boy than man still, but even so.
"You have both proven yourselves. There would be no point in letting you kill one another, as we would still lose a respectable member. Step out of the ring, and prepare to choose your new names."
Shock entered their eyes, and before they could help themselves, they looked up with gasps. Obviously, when they realised they had done the exact same thing, they threw each other more killing glares, even through their pain and confusion. No fight had ever ended with both boys (or girls, these days), proving themselves! Neither thought the other was worthy, but since it prevented more pain and secretly, the fear of losing, they were perfectly happy to accept it. The only problem, thought Nicky privately, as they were lead out of the ring, would be that yet again, Brian would be his equal. They had always been drawn for the first place in the training ranks, in the education ranks, in everything. For once it would be nice to out-rank the dimwit, he mused. Maybe one day.
Scythe had once again reclined himself in the thickly padded chair which he used like a throne. A blond lock of hair flicked itself in front of his face and he blew it away lazily.
"Have you thought about your new names, privates?"
Brian was up first, since he was bleeding the most. They wanted to rush him to medical, and wipe the smug smile off of his face with surgical gauze and iodine wipes. One of the various servants had to rest their hand on his wide, boyish shoulder to make sure he didn't fall over from the onset of a heavy concussion. The glazing of his eyes suggested that this probably wasn't the best time to expect him to be intelligent, but it was tradition.
"Xzr. Ecks-zee-err."
A few eyebrows were raised at the odd choice, but it was jotted down anyway. The large boy was ushered off to have his wounds treated, still grinning to himself as he went. It was Nicky's choice; he wasn't sure if he was ready to give up his old name, if he was honest. He had always been Nicholas Moonroe, and he always would be, inside his mind.
Stepping up to the chair circle, he frowned to himself as he remembered his plan. It seemed so... wrong.
"You, boy. Your name?"
"Sylver."
This time it wasn't just eyebrows. Half the men in the circle almost gasped, and one flinched at the sound of the dreaded material.
"S-Silver? Boy, that is not acceptable!"
"Spelt with a y. I looked it up, there's no rule, sir."
The same man, the scribe, was going to protest again but was cut across by a warm, light chuckle. Scythe's laugh was like a pure waterfall tinkling over rocks, and his smile was almost genuinely painted across his narrow face; in the face of that, the leaders settled themselves, nodding to one another and agreeing silently that no, there wasn't a rule, and yes, that was an acceptable name. It was duely written down, with a sour look on the scribe's face as he did so.
A nurse rushed to Nicky, no, Sylver's side, and took his arm gently. It was done with far more respect than it would have been done before; the nurses in the arena were always very rough with no-rankers and trainees. Now she had some respect in her expression, and he allowed himself to be lead away, to a long bath and sleep. Finally, he had made it into the circle of trust. One day, he would be a leader too, he was determined! And before he left the area, he took one last glance over his shoulder at the leader Scythe; two pairs of green eyes met for a split second across the wide gap and he saw what the other was mouthing.
Nothing else could have made him happier than the words he lip-read from the other's mouth.
"Well done, little brother."
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Beginnings
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The cart read "precognative magic && fortune telling galores!!" in messy paint. Outside sat a knobbly old lady, quite clearly a witch by the way the warts nearly dripped from her poor face, with a large black cat on her lap. It snickered at people when they got too close, providing the kind of eerie aura that a witch's stall needed.
A small boy, bright blue eyes curious and black hair ruffled, was the only one of a group of children that dared to approach. As she leant forward to creak something in his ear, he shuffled his feet and pointed to the sign.
"Say missus, why does your placard say future sight AND fortune tellin'?"
"Child, of a thousand villages visted every spring, thou are the first to notice."
Old crone bent herself almost double to press the back of her withered hand to the youngster's soft cheek, twisting her face into the nearest thing to a smile she could manage. Soon as it brushed like a touch of the wind, claw was gone into the recesses of her black tattered robe.
"Would thou like to hear thy fortune, child? Free of charge, for the smart boy."
"Why'd you speak with the funny voice, missus?"
"For... the punters, child. Nobody trusts a witch that does not talk with a 'funny voice' as thou puts it."
Cheeky smirk lighted the boy's visage, as he skipped up to the door of the cart and peered inside with pale eyes. The woman did not hesitate to push the curtain aside and reveal a dim space draped in black cloth - the look in her eyes suggested this was another parlor trick for the needy public - before sitting slowly and creakily at a low table.
There was a crystal ball. It is clear, with glitter strewn throughout the depths of the crystal itself. Somethings just have to be there, to make something what it is. A fortune teller cannot tell fortunes without a ball, though in reality the talented can see in a puddle or a mirror just as clearly.
"Close the curtain, boy and sit thy self downst."
This time the child did not protest or make question, perching himself politely on the edge of a stool at the table. Fingers drummed along the tablecloth absently, only to be slapped down by arrogant warty fingers.
"Be still, and look into thy future."
The crystal seemed to be glowing faintly in the dim light; a trick, or some true power? Nevertheless the boy had leant close to screw up his orbs and squint into it, trying to focus on tiny little pictures within. Determined to find a trick in it too, but he looked to be fascinated by the patterns and swirls.
"I see a tall, dark man... And not the kind that one tells young ladies they will see. Thou does not know thy father... But be warned. The love of the man will bring pain, and the tears of the pain shall fetch forth blood from thy sister's heart. Tis a sorry tale I see for thou, my lad. Young Ashanshi, dreamer on a cloud of his own making."
Terrified by the crone knowing his name, previously brave young lad fled. Watching him as he weaved his way through the crowd into the distance were the sad, understanding eyes of the witch left behind in her damp, dark home with a glowing crystal to speak only of her skill in the devine.
Sometimes it takes the silliest thing to create a prince.
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A ten miles away, and a thousand years later
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"Whatever Ancat wants, Ancat freaking gets!"
A slam of a paw against a rock, retractable black claws left deep gouges in the rock face. A wolf with reversed husky-like markings prowled within the den, honey-nut coloured belly splashed with blood from an earlier kill of the day. Yellow eyes glow faintly in what little light is given from the entrance to the secret place, momentarily blocked by another's entrance.
It was a larger beast, with mottled green-brown fur and kind blue eyes. A hint of hyena lurked about the young stubby muzzle or in the overly muscled shoulders fit so neatly into narrow opening of the cave.
"Father's looking for you."
"Father can go be skinned by hyoomans!"
As the paw automatically lashed out at his brother, the white wolf tensed his muscles and stopped claws just short of slapping the other hybrid across the face. They were similar, he and the outcast wolf; not princes like Ancat, nor pretty young vampire queens like Anona. They were just there because their parent liked to collect children from the most powerful beasts around.
At the time, a hyena and a winter elemental must have seemed like good catches.
Rage filled the young beast's body once more, until it visually poured forth from his eyes and almost every pore. Ground shook faintly beneath his paws in defense of itself as ice extruded from under his paws and deep within the soils. Whatever it touched didn't so much freeze as go up in cold flames; the fate befell a few pieces of cave moss, and a twig nearby.
"Winter, you're burning my feet! Stop it!"
"Shut up Fragments. You know you're one of father's favourites anyway."
Ice vapour poured from between his fangs... Brother's paw reached out to poke his shoulder in a calming fashion and recieved a frostburn for the effort, cutting all the way to the bone of it.
"YOUCH! You know what, I'm telling Kukulcan. Father will have something to say about you, I bet!"
The younger wolf went to saunter out of the den, his massive hyena shaped shoulders hardly fitting out. Tail was just about to disappear round the corner when he felt teeth latch onto it, pulling him back into the entrance and slamming him into the dusty, now ice-covered floor. Fangs were bared right in his face, his own big brother's fangs so close to his throat!
Whining pathetically as he felt them approaching his skin, the hybrid writhed beneath his brother's body until he could wriggle away slightly. His tail already felt partially dead from the cold that had been injected with the bite, hanging limp behind him as he struggled against the floor.
Teeth latched onto his scruff.
Teeth that were laced with deadly cold, which flooded through his body into his heart and stopped it clean, dead with hardly any effort.
Winter was left with a lifeless piece of fur in his mouth, shaking it disbelievingly as the thought of what had just transpired occurred to him deep within the caverns of his mind. He'd just killed his brother. The only sibling that cared about him. The only member of his family with half a heart! All because he forgot to turn his powers down for... for a stupid mortal beast!
Paw slapped down angrily against the fragile ice-laden form, cutting oozing wounds into dead flesh. Spilled dark blue abnormal liquid against the ground to paint it in memory.
"WHY DID YOU HAVE TO DIE? Why couldn't you have just left me alone? WHY? I'm... I'm sorry."
With a cry of rage the male disappeared into the light, rushing through the forest with grief tailing his cold form. Across the forest the morning cries of birds, cheerful in their living, were just beginning to be heard. A single robin sang on a branch, a splash of red testimony to nature's ability to survive the cold.
Sometimes it takes the most twisted of things to create a loner.
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Two miles away and one year later.
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"GET THOSE POLES PUT IN PLACE, YOU FILTHY CREATURES!"
Pretty young anthro wolfess screamed from her place reclined on a red chair, her curly red hair tied up in a precise bun atop her head and piercing blue eyes surveying the shambles of workers before her. Curves like an hourglass and a sweet siren call to match, a warning in red stripes was painted across her very fur as a warning not to touch what one couldn't have.
A pair of young blonde boys, probably human from their scruffy care-free looks, were stood off to the side with matching wonderous green eyes. One had longer hair and a slightly more feminine face, seeming older, but for this they could have almost been twins. Each held a small wooden sword in their tight sweaty right hand, paused in the middle of an epic battle between old enemies.
There was a sign for the new bar, but only the elder boy's thoughtfully moving lips could read it. It said "Anona's Place" and had a picture of a saucy dancing wolf to the left of it, the symbolism of which was completely lost to both lads.
It was levered into place by a system of pulleys and wheels, with much shouting from muscular draconic workers and fanning of faces from female assistants organising the construction. All in all it didn't provide much entertainment and the pair decided that they would return to their prior activies even as the sign clunked itself to its new home, to be welded with red hot torches and much ado about little to nothing.
Swords clashing against each other brought them out into the square in plain sight, putting them in rather a lot of eyes' view considering the business of the place. Even the pretty lady stopped in her screaming to inspect their enthusiastic stabbing, lunging and parrying. It didn't last for very long, ending in a delicate wave to a large lackey to remove them from her sight.
Stick picked up from a random place provided a heavy enough weapon for the dragon-like worker, hefting it one hand as he approached the playing duo in the middle of the clearing's brief sanctuary. The forests were dangerous after all, but it seemed here was no safe haven to dally about in.
One swipe of the wood took the older boy off his feet, and another kept him there with a beating to the head. He was clearly unconscious, and tears tracked down his younger brother's face.
"Tommy! Tommy! Wake up, we gotta go! TOMMY!"
Screams echoed as the beast picked him up under one arm, carrying the pair of them as easily as a human would a loaf of bread. There was no escape from the heaving muscles under the thick arms of the scaled, disgusting smelling thing and even then a pair of wings shuttered 'gainst its back gave it an unfair advantage in mobility. Cruel laughter filled eyes were bright as it dumped them in the middle of the woods.
"Go play in the full moon's light, little human filth."
It left.
The forest's blackness closed over them along with the curse's words, a kind of sing-song prayer to welcome the werewolves that stalked these places to come to them. Didn't they say that if you mentioned the beasts, they came for you? Or if you sang of the full moon in the deepest bit of the woods, they would hear it and consider it mocking.
Nicky, the younger boy, couldn't remember. He knew there were certain things you were supposed to say when you were in the bad luck places, to ward off evil spirits. But he couldn't remember them and Tommy was bleeding. Dripping crimson from the forehead and a scratch on his forearm where the monster had picked him up roughly.
There were shadows under the trees. They were growling.
Were trees meant to do that?
One of the shadows moved and the poor boy lost his cool, unable to remain brave and beside his brother at a time such as this. Instinct took him up the nearest clear tree and to a branch in almost a split second, leaving him beyond reach of the circling, ever growing number of shadows.
"Tommy!"
Sometimes, that's all it takes to change the world.
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What Comes Around, Goes Around
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"There you is, my prettyful."
The grubby-coated man stalked through the gravestones of the chapel, eyeing the position of the beautifully full moon in the clear sky. A girl was stood amongst them with her back to him and a pale hand trailed the stone of what he assumed to be her parents. He was a gravedigger and a good one; if you must conceal what you have done, you become proficient at the task of digging.
There had been a couple. They had been dead when they arrived, unlike some of the graveyard's contents, and they had been young. Some kind of foreign disease the fancy business men had said. Well if it lured pretties like this one to his home, the foreigners could spread their mangy poxes as they liked!
Carefully, stepping across the ground where no twigs could snap to alert her, he approached as if the young one was a dangerous animal. Indeed she was. A single scream could destroy his careful year's work! Why, the police wouldn't believe stories about girls thinking they saw ghosts a second time. No, no... He must be careful.
She didn't so much as shiver in the cold, he noted. What a gorgeous thing she was too, in a short white dress and with her long white-blonde hair all tied up behind her head. From here the murderous male couldn't see her eyes but his imagination conjured up a pair of pale blue gems set deep in her face, in such a way that it quickened his breath.
Steps were faster, the knife was raised... brought down with a snap into the girl's heart through the back of her frail body and then- the mist disappeared, taking the lithe form of the woman with it. She slipped between his fingers as he tried to grasp at her and then the fragments began to reform.
This time the form was of a beast.
--
Tapping his feet outside the church's exterior, Winter's long white hair swished as head turned towards the smell of blood. What had happened THIS time? No doubt one of the others had grown distracted. A quiet sigh parted his lips into a perfect O, breath floundering into the equally cold night air without the usual puff of warm vapour.
When he found Cloud, the vampire was happily covered in blood and feeding from an old man's neck. There was a knife on the floor and a few scraps of clothing - borrowed from a young woman's cupboard, he guessed - which had a smear of grave dirt across it.
"Didn't Alan ever tell you not to play with your food?"
"Nff, 's moar f'n w'en dere ebil."
Came the muffled reply, from around a mouthful of throat. Disgusted tut escaped from the boy, before he reached out to flick the vampire's nose, causing him to drop his meal and dirty it on the ground. Wiping his hand along his own trousers, Winter narrowed his faintly glowing yellow eyes.
"We're here for a reason, need I remind you that?"
Cloud straightened up to his full height, towering over the boy at 7'6 feet tall. Haphazardly cut white hair fluttered around his head as he yawned, displaying a set of teeth more akin to a lion than any humanoid; red-pink eyes half closed in lazy enjoyment of his meal's lingering taste.
"Relax. It's not as if anything's going to happen, is it?"
Funnily enough, that was the moment the werewolf decided to rush past the gravestones, howl echoing to the full moon light as it passed them in a flash of damp hot fur. A blur of angry blonde hair (and even Cloud's poor eyesight caught the look in the green eyes under it) followed the werebeast. There was metal shimmering as it reformed itself into a gun under Winter's nose for a moment.
Quick as they came, they were gone. Gone across the graveyard to fight in the fields, leading each other a merry chase, a game of hide and death.
Winter and Cloud's gaze was irrisitably drawn to one another. The younger was the first to break the shocked silence.
"Sh**."
"Sh**."
Cloud agreed.
It was all there was to say, really.
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Well, thanks for reading/looking. XD
Newest towards the top.
Warning for blood & mild swearing below this point!
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Nicky's tale
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The pain was horrific. There was blood across the floor, blood sticking his damp blond fringe to his sweaty forehead. Blood on the corpse before him, and blood on the boy facing him. This fight was for their lives, and only one would leave alive; they were both thinking the same thing. One down, one to go.
Nicky's younger face was contorted with rage as he sidestepped towards the taller, black haired boy. The other had the advantage of speed, size and weight. The only thing he had left was his brains. Thankfully it was well known that Brian wasn't the brightest bulb in the box... They had trained together, slept in the same dorm room and now they had to kill one another. If they hadn't been bitter rivals since day one, Nicky would feel almost regretful.
Baring their teeth like wild creatures, they circled, each with a precious short dagger clutched in their ruby-stained hands. They looked like polar opposites, across the ring from one another. One tall and thick-set, dark, with angular handsome features, cool and collected. The other short, delicate, with fair hair, a face more beautiful than handsome, and trembling hands. They had never killed before today, and they were handling the shock of the dead body in very different ways. Anger in one case, and horror in the other. Brian's emotions had been beaten flat by the training; after today, Nicky thought his would go the same way.
As they sidestepped around the ring, growling and refusing to lunge before the other did, they realised that the soft green eyes of their leader were fixed upon them. Scythe's gaze had been entirely occupied with the casual meeting taking place on the sidelines of the ritual fight, beforehand. Now he was looking at them with bored eyes, half closed eyelids making his "pretty" face seem very threatening, despite the calm expression. They both knew who he was, what he was capable of. And they were boring him.
They looked at one another. A moment of mutual understanding passed between them, breaking the barriers of hatred for just a moment.
The moment was over. They snarled.
They leapt.
Both expected the thick collision of bodies, the pain of it; and they braced themselves, rolling as they crashed together, trying to get the advantage to use their weapons. Neither could gain it, even though one had the clear advantage. Nicky's arm was preventing Brian's knife being brought up, and Brian's body was crushing the smaller boy's hand against his own chest. The impasse continued, lasting minutes as they thrashed across the ring, trying to break free or break the other. Neither was winning and both knew that sooner or later they would tire, disappoint the blond man watching them with more interest.
Suddenly, Nicky spotted his opening. Brian's arm had moved a little and now... SMASH. Nicky's forehead almost broke the other boy's nose with the impact. Through the pain of his head, the little teenager knew by a pained howl that the reckless move had been worth it. The weight on his body was gone, and he could scramble to his nimble feet; the other was curled in a ball on the floor, whimpering with hands over his face.
Advancing with his knife gripped tightly, the blond boy thought it was time to finish it. There would be no point in prolonging the other's sufferi-
Hands wrapped around his ankles, pulled him forwards and sent him flailing to the ground, banging the back of his head roughly on a wooden board of the ring's floor. Careless! He'd forgotten that Brian could be cunning in a corner, if artless with his techniques. The larger boy was already flinging himself towards the blond; only a quick thought brought his legs up in time to protect his stomach. A scream wrenched itself from his throat anyway, as his legs were sliced with the knife... It was not a deep slash, but blood welled up through his damaged cotton trousers nonetheless. He didn't have much time to admire the wound, as he was crawling away from the other's attacks, quickly brought his elbow back as he did, to almost hit Brian in the face again. It didn't connect, but it bought him a second to collect himself.
Once more they were facing each other in the ring, panting and hissing softly. Brian was swaying a little, and Nicky's legs were trembling. The fight had lasted only five minutes, but it seemed like they had spent a lifetime trying to kill one another. The taller boy's icy blue eyes were fogged with confusion, and possibly a little concussion; Nicky's green orbs were clear, but filled with pain.
He didn't want to fight anymore. He didn't want to have to kill! He looked longingly at the leaders, sat to one side of the ring. If only they'd call off the fight, change the ritual. He was only here because...
Scythe's head tilted slowly, and both boys' heads jerked up, watching him in awe. He was the leader of leaders, the only man that they would answer to one day... If one of them ever proved themself.
With that thought in mind, they leapt again. This time, it was obvious who would win, as Brian tumbled Nicky to the floor, sitting over him. For a second, anyway. They rolled again, the blond's fear of death giving him enough strength to throw the other off. It still wasn't enough to win himself a place of honour, and it never would be until he dirtied his hands once more with blood. They had both taken it in the turns to weaken the other boy, Richie, until he had fallen easily to a joint attack. They only ever wanted to face one another. They had a worthy opponent, that way. They could die with pride, if taken down by someone of equal strength, rather than the pale, sickly boy that they had dispatched just a few minutes earlier.
Blood spurted as Nicky's knife found a home in Brian's dagger arm... He had lost the dagger, as it was wrenched from the wound by the howling boy. He was unarmed, but his enemy was injured. Was it worth it? He didn't really think so, since now the other was approaching quickly, before the loss of blood weakened him too much, a knife tightly in each hand. The fight, the murderous look in Brian's eyes was enough to terrify the smaller boy to his very soul. He wasn't ready for this! He hadn't been trained enough; he wasn't ready to die, either. But death was upon him, and he would die fighting.
A snarl readied itself at his lips, the fire coming back into his own eyes. The elder made a pass; it was easily avoided, a clumsy jab with the knife. Nicky grabbed his arm, pulled him closer and made to take the knife. Of course, it didn't come from his hand and Brian was stronger. The other knife was coming around, towards his stomach and he prepared to die, everything moving in slow motion.
"STOP. Halt the fight!"
They froze, blinking in the spotlights. Nicky's ragged breathing was easily heard, rasping over Brian's hair as their bodies remained disbelievingly pressed together. A fight had never been halted before. They were both wondering if they had done something wrong. Dreading the next words, but thanking all the Gods that whatever that came would not be the knife, Nicky looked up to see... Scythe, hands on the barrier to the ring, his lip curled up angrily, eyes anxious.
"I said stop. That means drop one another."
They violently disentangled, knives thrown to the floor and glares thrown just as viciously. If looks could kill, they would both be stone cold dead a long time ago, as they had perfected the art of the disapproving glare at the rival.
Now that they were apart, the leader very slowly trailed his delicate hand along to find the latch of the barrier, and glided just as elegantly into the ring to stand between them. He was tiny, shorter than Nicky by a head and twice that amount shorter than Brian. Even so, just the way he moved seemed to scream warnings; he was dangerous, and not afraid to let people know it. They looked down, showing extreme respect for the man. He was more boy than man still, but even so.
"You have both proven yourselves. There would be no point in letting you kill one another, as we would still lose a respectable member. Step out of the ring, and prepare to choose your new names."
Shock entered their eyes, and before they could help themselves, they looked up with gasps. Obviously, when they realised they had done the exact same thing, they threw each other more killing glares, even through their pain and confusion. No fight had ever ended with both boys (or girls, these days), proving themselves! Neither thought the other was worthy, but since it prevented more pain and secretly, the fear of losing, they were perfectly happy to accept it. The only problem, thought Nicky privately, as they were lead out of the ring, would be that yet again, Brian would be his equal. They had always been drawn for the first place in the training ranks, in the education ranks, in everything. For once it would be nice to out-rank the dimwit, he mused. Maybe one day.
Scythe had once again reclined himself in the thickly padded chair which he used like a throne. A blond lock of hair flicked itself in front of his face and he blew it away lazily.
"Have you thought about your new names, privates?"
Brian was up first, since he was bleeding the most. They wanted to rush him to medical, and wipe the smug smile off of his face with surgical gauze and iodine wipes. One of the various servants had to rest their hand on his wide, boyish shoulder to make sure he didn't fall over from the onset of a heavy concussion. The glazing of his eyes suggested that this probably wasn't the best time to expect him to be intelligent, but it was tradition.
"Xzr. Ecks-zee-err."
A few eyebrows were raised at the odd choice, but it was jotted down anyway. The large boy was ushered off to have his wounds treated, still grinning to himself as he went. It was Nicky's choice; he wasn't sure if he was ready to give up his old name, if he was honest. He had always been Nicholas Moonroe, and he always would be, inside his mind.
Stepping up to the chair circle, he frowned to himself as he remembered his plan. It seemed so... wrong.
"You, boy. Your name?"
"Sylver."
This time it wasn't just eyebrows. Half the men in the circle almost gasped, and one flinched at the sound of the dreaded material.
"S-Silver? Boy, that is not acceptable!"
"Spelt with a y. I looked it up, there's no rule, sir."
The same man, the scribe, was going to protest again but was cut across by a warm, light chuckle. Scythe's laugh was like a pure waterfall tinkling over rocks, and his smile was almost genuinely painted across his narrow face; in the face of that, the leaders settled themselves, nodding to one another and agreeing silently that no, there wasn't a rule, and yes, that was an acceptable name. It was duely written down, with a sour look on the scribe's face as he did so.
A nurse rushed to Nicky, no, Sylver's side, and took his arm gently. It was done with far more respect than it would have been done before; the nurses in the arena were always very rough with no-rankers and trainees. Now she had some respect in her expression, and he allowed himself to be lead away, to a long bath and sleep. Finally, he had made it into the circle of trust. One day, he would be a leader too, he was determined! And before he left the area, he took one last glance over his shoulder at the leader Scythe; two pairs of green eyes met for a split second across the wide gap and he saw what the other was mouthing.
Nothing else could have made him happier than the words he lip-read from the other's mouth.
"Well done, little brother."
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Beginnings
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The cart read "precognative magic && fortune telling galores!!" in messy paint. Outside sat a knobbly old lady, quite clearly a witch by the way the warts nearly dripped from her poor face, with a large black cat on her lap. It snickered at people when they got too close, providing the kind of eerie aura that a witch's stall needed.
A small boy, bright blue eyes curious and black hair ruffled, was the only one of a group of children that dared to approach. As she leant forward to creak something in his ear, he shuffled his feet and pointed to the sign.
"Say missus, why does your placard say future sight AND fortune tellin'?"
"Child, of a thousand villages visted every spring, thou are the first to notice."
Old crone bent herself almost double to press the back of her withered hand to the youngster's soft cheek, twisting her face into the nearest thing to a smile she could manage. Soon as it brushed like a touch of the wind, claw was gone into the recesses of her black tattered robe.
"Would thou like to hear thy fortune, child? Free of charge, for the smart boy."
"Why'd you speak with the funny voice, missus?"
"For... the punters, child. Nobody trusts a witch that does not talk with a 'funny voice' as thou puts it."
Cheeky smirk lighted the boy's visage, as he skipped up to the door of the cart and peered inside with pale eyes. The woman did not hesitate to push the curtain aside and reveal a dim space draped in black cloth - the look in her eyes suggested this was another parlor trick for the needy public - before sitting slowly and creakily at a low table.
There was a crystal ball. It is clear, with glitter strewn throughout the depths of the crystal itself. Somethings just have to be there, to make something what it is. A fortune teller cannot tell fortunes without a ball, though in reality the talented can see in a puddle or a mirror just as clearly.
"Close the curtain, boy and sit thy self downst."
This time the child did not protest or make question, perching himself politely on the edge of a stool at the table. Fingers drummed along the tablecloth absently, only to be slapped down by arrogant warty fingers.
"Be still, and look into thy future."
The crystal seemed to be glowing faintly in the dim light; a trick, or some true power? Nevertheless the boy had leant close to screw up his orbs and squint into it, trying to focus on tiny little pictures within. Determined to find a trick in it too, but he looked to be fascinated by the patterns and swirls.
"I see a tall, dark man... And not the kind that one tells young ladies they will see. Thou does not know thy father... But be warned. The love of the man will bring pain, and the tears of the pain shall fetch forth blood from thy sister's heart. Tis a sorry tale I see for thou, my lad. Young Ashanshi, dreamer on a cloud of his own making."
Terrified by the crone knowing his name, previously brave young lad fled. Watching him as he weaved his way through the crowd into the distance were the sad, understanding eyes of the witch left behind in her damp, dark home with a glowing crystal to speak only of her skill in the devine.
Sometimes it takes the silliest thing to create a prince.
---
A ten miles away, and a thousand years later
---
"Whatever Ancat wants, Ancat freaking gets!"
A slam of a paw against a rock, retractable black claws left deep gouges in the rock face. A wolf with reversed husky-like markings prowled within the den, honey-nut coloured belly splashed with blood from an earlier kill of the day. Yellow eyes glow faintly in what little light is given from the entrance to the secret place, momentarily blocked by another's entrance.
It was a larger beast, with mottled green-brown fur and kind blue eyes. A hint of hyena lurked about the young stubby muzzle or in the overly muscled shoulders fit so neatly into narrow opening of the cave.
"Father's looking for you."
"Father can go be skinned by hyoomans!"
As the paw automatically lashed out at his brother, the white wolf tensed his muscles and stopped claws just short of slapping the other hybrid across the face. They were similar, he and the outcast wolf; not princes like Ancat, nor pretty young vampire queens like Anona. They were just there because their parent liked to collect children from the most powerful beasts around.
At the time, a hyena and a winter elemental must have seemed like good catches.
Rage filled the young beast's body once more, until it visually poured forth from his eyes and almost every pore. Ground shook faintly beneath his paws in defense of itself as ice extruded from under his paws and deep within the soils. Whatever it touched didn't so much freeze as go up in cold flames; the fate befell a few pieces of cave moss, and a twig nearby.
"Winter, you're burning my feet! Stop it!"
"Shut up Fragments. You know you're one of father's favourites anyway."
Ice vapour poured from between his fangs... Brother's paw reached out to poke his shoulder in a calming fashion and recieved a frostburn for the effort, cutting all the way to the bone of it.
"YOUCH! You know what, I'm telling Kukulcan. Father will have something to say about you, I bet!"
The younger wolf went to saunter out of the den, his massive hyena shaped shoulders hardly fitting out. Tail was just about to disappear round the corner when he felt teeth latch onto it, pulling him back into the entrance and slamming him into the dusty, now ice-covered floor. Fangs were bared right in his face, his own big brother's fangs so close to his throat!
Whining pathetically as he felt them approaching his skin, the hybrid writhed beneath his brother's body until he could wriggle away slightly. His tail already felt partially dead from the cold that had been injected with the bite, hanging limp behind him as he struggled against the floor.
Teeth latched onto his scruff.
Teeth that were laced with deadly cold, which flooded through his body into his heart and stopped it clean, dead with hardly any effort.
Winter was left with a lifeless piece of fur in his mouth, shaking it disbelievingly as the thought of what had just transpired occurred to him deep within the caverns of his mind. He'd just killed his brother. The only sibling that cared about him. The only member of his family with half a heart! All because he forgot to turn his powers down for... for a stupid mortal beast!
Paw slapped down angrily against the fragile ice-laden form, cutting oozing wounds into dead flesh. Spilled dark blue abnormal liquid against the ground to paint it in memory.
"WHY DID YOU HAVE TO DIE? Why couldn't you have just left me alone? WHY? I'm... I'm sorry."
With a cry of rage the male disappeared into the light, rushing through the forest with grief tailing his cold form. Across the forest the morning cries of birds, cheerful in their living, were just beginning to be heard. A single robin sang on a branch, a splash of red testimony to nature's ability to survive the cold.
Sometimes it takes the most twisted of things to create a loner.
---
Two miles away and one year later.
---
"GET THOSE POLES PUT IN PLACE, YOU FILTHY CREATURES!"
Pretty young anthro wolfess screamed from her place reclined on a red chair, her curly red hair tied up in a precise bun atop her head and piercing blue eyes surveying the shambles of workers before her. Curves like an hourglass and a sweet siren call to match, a warning in red stripes was painted across her very fur as a warning not to touch what one couldn't have.
A pair of young blonde boys, probably human from their scruffy care-free looks, were stood off to the side with matching wonderous green eyes. One had longer hair and a slightly more feminine face, seeming older, but for this they could have almost been twins. Each held a small wooden sword in their tight sweaty right hand, paused in the middle of an epic battle between old enemies.
There was a sign for the new bar, but only the elder boy's thoughtfully moving lips could read it. It said "Anona's Place" and had a picture of a saucy dancing wolf to the left of it, the symbolism of which was completely lost to both lads.
It was levered into place by a system of pulleys and wheels, with much shouting from muscular draconic workers and fanning of faces from female assistants organising the construction. All in all it didn't provide much entertainment and the pair decided that they would return to their prior activies even as the sign clunked itself to its new home, to be welded with red hot torches and much ado about little to nothing.
Swords clashing against each other brought them out into the square in plain sight, putting them in rather a lot of eyes' view considering the business of the place. Even the pretty lady stopped in her screaming to inspect their enthusiastic stabbing, lunging and parrying. It didn't last for very long, ending in a delicate wave to a large lackey to remove them from her sight.
Stick picked up from a random place provided a heavy enough weapon for the dragon-like worker, hefting it one hand as he approached the playing duo in the middle of the clearing's brief sanctuary. The forests were dangerous after all, but it seemed here was no safe haven to dally about in.
One swipe of the wood took the older boy off his feet, and another kept him there with a beating to the head. He was clearly unconscious, and tears tracked down his younger brother's face.
"Tommy! Tommy! Wake up, we gotta go! TOMMY!"
Screams echoed as the beast picked him up under one arm, carrying the pair of them as easily as a human would a loaf of bread. There was no escape from the heaving muscles under the thick arms of the scaled, disgusting smelling thing and even then a pair of wings shuttered 'gainst its back gave it an unfair advantage in mobility. Cruel laughter filled eyes were bright as it dumped them in the middle of the woods.
"Go play in the full moon's light, little human filth."
It left.
The forest's blackness closed over them along with the curse's words, a kind of sing-song prayer to welcome the werewolves that stalked these places to come to them. Didn't they say that if you mentioned the beasts, they came for you? Or if you sang of the full moon in the deepest bit of the woods, they would hear it and consider it mocking.
Nicky, the younger boy, couldn't remember. He knew there were certain things you were supposed to say when you were in the bad luck places, to ward off evil spirits. But he couldn't remember them and Tommy was bleeding. Dripping crimson from the forehead and a scratch on his forearm where the monster had picked him up roughly.
There were shadows under the trees. They were growling.
Were trees meant to do that?
One of the shadows moved and the poor boy lost his cool, unable to remain brave and beside his brother at a time such as this. Instinct took him up the nearest clear tree and to a branch in almost a split second, leaving him beyond reach of the circling, ever growing number of shadows.
"Tommy!"
Sometimes, that's all it takes to change the world.
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What Comes Around, Goes Around
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"There you is, my prettyful."
The grubby-coated man stalked through the gravestones of the chapel, eyeing the position of the beautifully full moon in the clear sky. A girl was stood amongst them with her back to him and a pale hand trailed the stone of what he assumed to be her parents. He was a gravedigger and a good one; if you must conceal what you have done, you become proficient at the task of digging.
There had been a couple. They had been dead when they arrived, unlike some of the graveyard's contents, and they had been young. Some kind of foreign disease the fancy business men had said. Well if it lured pretties like this one to his home, the foreigners could spread their mangy poxes as they liked!
Carefully, stepping across the ground where no twigs could snap to alert her, he approached as if the young one was a dangerous animal. Indeed she was. A single scream could destroy his careful year's work! Why, the police wouldn't believe stories about girls thinking they saw ghosts a second time. No, no... He must be careful.
She didn't so much as shiver in the cold, he noted. What a gorgeous thing she was too, in a short white dress and with her long white-blonde hair all tied up behind her head. From here the murderous male couldn't see her eyes but his imagination conjured up a pair of pale blue gems set deep in her face, in such a way that it quickened his breath.
Steps were faster, the knife was raised... brought down with a snap into the girl's heart through the back of her frail body and then- the mist disappeared, taking the lithe form of the woman with it. She slipped between his fingers as he tried to grasp at her and then the fragments began to reform.
This time the form was of a beast.
--
Tapping his feet outside the church's exterior, Winter's long white hair swished as head turned towards the smell of blood. What had happened THIS time? No doubt one of the others had grown distracted. A quiet sigh parted his lips into a perfect O, breath floundering into the equally cold night air without the usual puff of warm vapour.
When he found Cloud, the vampire was happily covered in blood and feeding from an old man's neck. There was a knife on the floor and a few scraps of clothing - borrowed from a young woman's cupboard, he guessed - which had a smear of grave dirt across it.
"Didn't Alan ever tell you not to play with your food?"
"Nff, 's moar f'n w'en dere ebil."
Came the muffled reply, from around a mouthful of throat. Disgusted tut escaped from the boy, before he reached out to flick the vampire's nose, causing him to drop his meal and dirty it on the ground. Wiping his hand along his own trousers, Winter narrowed his faintly glowing yellow eyes.
"We're here for a reason, need I remind you that?"
Cloud straightened up to his full height, towering over the boy at 7'6 feet tall. Haphazardly cut white hair fluttered around his head as he yawned, displaying a set of teeth more akin to a lion than any humanoid; red-pink eyes half closed in lazy enjoyment of his meal's lingering taste.
"Relax. It's not as if anything's going to happen, is it?"
Funnily enough, that was the moment the werewolf decided to rush past the gravestones, howl echoing to the full moon light as it passed them in a flash of damp hot fur. A blur of angry blonde hair (and even Cloud's poor eyesight caught the look in the green eyes under it) followed the werebeast. There was metal shimmering as it reformed itself into a gun under Winter's nose for a moment.
Quick as they came, they were gone. Gone across the graveyard to fight in the fields, leading each other a merry chase, a game of hide and death.
Winter and Cloud's gaze was irrisitably drawn to one another. The younger was the first to break the shocked silence.
"Sh**."
"Sh**."
Cloud agreed.
It was all there was to say, really.
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Well, thanks for reading/looking. XD
