Night School: Mini Stories

/ By MakiOnyx [+Watch]

Replies: 8 / 8 years 334 days 17 hours 29 minutes 15 seconds

Allowed Users

  1. [Allowed] sandchild13
  2. [Allowed] HanyouMokushi


Night School mini-stories:

This thread is for writers who took characters, with permission of their makers if characters did not originally belong to said writers, and created cute side stories.
These stories do not have to follow night school to a point in any way as long as the characters used keep the family ties they have. Meaning if you are a fan of a couple characters, but they are not romantically involved, your still free to post a short fan fiction story about them. I simply ask all character family ties stay the same due to the large character pool to choose from. Remember again that you must have permission from the original character's role-player if you did not make said character.

I made this because I was bored and thought it would be interesting to see mini-side stories that don

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"To Live"
What makes a life worth living? What happens if you lose that purpose?
This was bad, worse than bad, horrible, terrible, the adjectives could go on and on, but none would come close to even describe Lord Callum, they'd only lessen what he truly was. Zihark heaved whatever he was able onto the ground as he barely managed to hold his body upright.
"Get up! I missed the vital spots, you should be on your feet and fighting back," snarled Callum Frost. Zihark was tall, as were most of his brothers yet even he was dwarfed in comparison to Callum, however it could be the fact that he was doubled over and heaving that may have led to the exaggeration, not that it was far from the truth. Zihark glared through his bangs wiping the blood from his lips as he somehow managed to pull himself up, leaning heavily on an ice lance stained crimson.
"Funny thing about that, there are plenty of blood pouches around those vital spots that can lead to death as surely as a pin strike," he spoke. It took a lot of fights, a lot of blood, and a whole lot of patience for him to reach this point. This point being he could offend their father and get away with it, however only in a training scenario, beyond that he was lucky if he kept his head on from the back hands. Callum rolled his shoulders completely ignoring him and his words, which meant another bad thing. Before Zihark could think Callum vanished from sight, that instant jerked his body to function as he barely managed to brace himself from the sword strike. The impact shattered the lance as Zihark was defenseless against another blow. Yet one had to always think on their feet, it was a lesson Callum hammered into him, and he likewise passed it on to his siblings, not so much bludgeoning it into their heads but training nonetheless in the farthest depths of the home away from prying eyes and specifically Callum's gaze. He dropped his body feeling the blade snip some of his hair as he spun his legs around to bring Callum to the ground. Matching his speed he was on top of him in an instant, an icy blade pierced through the throat, blood bubbled out, he did it! He killed their tormentor!
"Too slow," was the harsh reply. Zihark barely had time to feel the body beneath him turn to snow when the broad side of the sword slammed against his side sending him through the inner and outer walls of the training courtyard and straight into the wall of the house. The blade took a bit of flesh with it from the expanding the ice coating it, dripping blood onto the pristine snow covered ground. His senses useless he expanded his field of vision through his mind catching the signature chill of Callum as it approached his left. Instantly another lance was in his hands, this time he felt the impact the weapon on the verge of breaking, and when that moment came he focused the shards to spears sending them back, his efforts rewarded with a growl.
"Seems I won this-" SMACK! and Zihark found himself a few feet from where he was with a long gash etched along the side of his mouth and cheek. Seems the battle scenario was over. For a moment it felt that the skin was torn from the bone and slowly Zihark raised a hand expecting the sleekness of wet bone yet his fingers touched blood and raw skin. A frost backhand, the cold doing a bit to prevent the skin to split all the way through. Zihark was kneeling as his senses returned adding detail to the blurs as he attempted to catch sight of Callum. It was a miracle he didn't lose an eye with the strike, however it seemed he counted his body parts too soon. His vision was only partly there, he averted his gaze to the snow seeing a starker contrast with the snow in the form of a deep puddle of blood, along with the unmistakable sphere of what was left of his eye. His gaze was furthered impaired as a shadow loomed over him.
"What were you saying, Zihark," Callum demanded, from what Zihark could see it appeared he managed to injure the almighty Lord. Yet not enough to faze him, let alone earn their freedom. It was a childish idea, something that Kai would talk about in secret, but he couldn't afford such ideas, he couldn't afford to die before he could do something to save everyone, especially the younger ones they deserved so much better. Zihark coughed hard trying to not stretch the gash or further damage the rest of his form. His body was covered with all measures of wounds, the bandaging around his chest being a permanent accessory was only partially covered in blood, which to him showed he was doing better with dodging some of the more severe attacks, if he could survive a match without a speck then maybe, maybe he could be Callum's equal, maybe even surpass him. Blood dribbled from the eye along with what could have been the optical nerves; he pulled himself to a better kneeling position. With Callum's help he was dragged to his feet by his throat before being pinned to the already damaged wall, bits of it digging into his back. "Well? Answer me, Zihark!" Zihark held fast latching his fingers around Callum's wrist, he turned his fingertips to ice claw like nails attempting to claw out of his grip. Callum let out a harsh laugh at the pathetic attempts. Really it was like a cat trying to scratch an elephant’s hide. But Zihark felt it, a brief looseness around his throat.
"Never underestimate a cornered dog," he whispered creating ice spikes around his neck which landed him on the ground and moving swiftly away from Callum creating numerous ice blades around him.
"Well said, but even a dog knows his place," Callum sneered reacting even faster than before as he kicked Zihark square in the chest sending him sliding to the other side of the courtyard. "That concludes this training session, get out of my sight before I change my mind," he spoke harshly before heading back into the mansion. Zihark could take a guess at what he meant, but his thoughts were too muddled to pay attention to what could happen, compared to what was happening. Luckily he managed to keep conscious with that blow or else he'd probably be worse off, granted he was already a mess, would it really make a difference? He shook his head slowly to will away the pain as he pulled the rest of his body out of the wall, getting some support from it before stumbling forward as the wall gave way. Zihark fumbled around in the courtyard eventually pausing for a rest where he first fell through a wall. Rather it would do him a lick of good he scooped up the other ruby orb beginning to feel some of his healing abilities taking shape. Callum always dampened their natural healing properties during training, he said it built character to know your body in and out, know exactly what was damaged so you can adjust your fighting to keep at it until you could reach a safe place. Well Callum never used so many words, it was how Zihark explained it to the others to help them get through it and adjust to his madness.
There was never anything abundant in the house, you had to make do with what was there, everything was strict and orderly like that, it was a never ending survival camp in the home. But one of Callum's concubines was able to talk sense to him to have an abundance of bandages, nothing other remotely medical but bandages certainly beat nothing. It was probably Nasir's mother, Mira that gave them that privilege, as to what the price was for such a thing, none of them knew. Zihark managed to reach the cabinet grabbing a handful of bandages before making quick work to his bedroom. It was nothing remarkable; it held the simplest necessities and was more often a shoddy infirmary then a bedroom. Zihark shared the room with Nasir who was on one of the pair of beds out cold from his own training with Callum. Quietly he made his way to a table with traces of fresh blood against stains of old. He looked over to Nasir to see he was still breathing at the very least, before doctoring himself up. Most of the injuries were internal which Zihark would have to hope his innate abilities could mend. A few moments later Zihark bandaged what he could without assistance securing some bandages against the right side of his face covering the eye in the process. Truth be told he could probably heal it, but it needed time to recover from any residual magic from Callum. With the left over bandages he went over to Nasir's bedside seeing tracing of his own doctoring, some bandages were mildly dirtied others bled through. Carefully Zihark exchanged some of the bloodier ones for fresh ones without disrupting Nasir's sleep. In all honesty Zihark wouldn't mind a nap, hell a dirt one would be better but it was unwise for both to be asleep incase Callum called one could alert the other.
Foregoing the bed Zihark snuck back outside to the hall, the older siblings had more free reign of the place but even that wasn't much, and Callum could change his mind on a whim so it was leave at your own risk. Zihark needed to walk or else he was going to fall asleep. The darkness was abysmal, occasionally there may have been a flicker of an illuminating rune if you passed by it, but most times you just had to adjust to the dark or worry about running into something, never have those occasions ended well for Zihark. Something though reached his ears and he paused mid step pressing his body against the wall. He took a breath closing his eye and searched the area with what he could with his mind. Callum's trail was far off so it wasn't him coming closer; the other was small and felt almost to be quivering. Zihark stepped out brushing against the other effortlessly, grabbing his wrist.

"Let go of me! Or else," Hajin whispered vehemently lashing out with his free hand at his captor. He had sense enough to keep his voice down but that was about all the sense he had at the moment. Zihark could feel the tension in his wrist as he released it.
"Be still shipai," he hissed lowly.
"Dsen," Hajin asked his tone coming down but not enough to hide his anger.
"Aye, what are you doing out here? Where's Yukeu?" The question stung, Zihark could sense it with the sharp intake of breath on Jiji's end. He grabbed his hand gently this time as he worked their way to a small room that had better lighting then most areas; Zihark glanced down both sides of the hall before closing the door behind them. It was an extra bedroom, the house had dozens like it, but this one had some boxes piled up in one corner.
"What happened to you dsen," he asked his tone changed to concern as he touched some of the bandages, his fingers touching a few bloody splotches. Zihark headed to a table taking a seat on a chair as he ran a hand through his disheveled hair.
"Just training," he spoke after a moment. Jiji released his breath as he got a better look at the side of Zihark's face, his fingers trembling a bit when he reached to touch where the bandages covered his eye. Zihark grabbed his wrist lowering it back down. "It's nothing. What happened with Yukeu?" Jiji bit his lip turning his gaze downward.
"W-we had a fight, a-and then I left," he spoke slowly keeping his voice in check a bit of the anger seeped out, it must have felt like a betrayal to him. Zihark had his suspicions that wasn't all there was to it, but it wasn't his place to say. Yukeu must have had her reasons for whatever did happen since the two never fought ever since they were born.
"You should go back and tell her you're sorry," he spoke pulling out what remained of his eye holding it in his hands, a soft glow emitted from them.
"But she started it! I didn't do anything! I just- I just wanted to play with her. Why do I have to say sorry," he begged no longer hiding his temper although the words came out harsh, Zihark didn't hear the anger, he heard shame, with a twinge of sadness. "I just can't do anything right," he finished softly. Zihark could imagine tears trailing his cheeks, but crying was the worst thing you could do in this place. Jiji was strong, but it wasn't fair for him or anyone to be strong at such an age to miss out on their childhood.
"You can do plenty right, I'll show you now," he grabbed Jiji's hand as he rested it over his other hand cupping the eye. Most kids would be grossed out, Jiji certainly wasn't keen but it was more confusion then revulsion. "Think about what Haha-San told you, along with how you feel around Yukeu," he spoke softly. Jiji closed his eyes, the light dimmed while the air turned a little colder, like the first day of a new snow. As the light died down in Zihark's palm was a small crystallized flower. Jiji brought his hand back and looked to Zihark for some explanation, in turn he brought his hand up and blew softly on the flower, the petals flew off dancing lazily towards Jiji. Now in his palm was a smooth orb of ice with a soft ruby shimmer to it. "Magic can do all sorts of things, depending how you are feeling at the moment. What we just did, I couldn't have done it by it myself, that tells me you have done right. You may have gotten into a fight, but you and I both know Yukeu, you more than me. So don't hold it against her. You don't have to tell me anything, but I'll tell you plenty, get back to your room while you can. I'm sure Yukeu is worrying about you," Zihark explained. Jiji nodded his head and quickly left the room as stealthy as he could. It was Yukeu who really knew Jiji in and out. Zihark rolled the orb in his hand thoughtfully, usually teaching Jiji something new helped to calm him down if Yukeu wasn't around. And it was something that Callum often didn't teach them in extent, healing arts that go beyond simple healing. Healing and something more, Zihark pulled away the bandages on his face as he slid the orb in the empty socket. He blinked a few times, along with rubbing it to get the sensation back; the added bit to such an art would give Zihark a better way to look out for Jiji. He reapplied the bandages nonetheless as he made his exit.

He didn't get far, hardly a step out of the door and he was paralyzed. He shook his head closing his eyes trying to pinpoint this feeling of absolute dread. Realization dawned and he broke from his spell and dashed down the halls. Zihark hardly had the time to swing by his own bedroom to see if Nasir was stirring, but he soon received his answer as he heard another pair of steps behind him. Nasir broke in the lead running up the stairs with Zihark quickly on his heels.
"Something's wrong. I kept Kai, Alice, and the others in the dark. If it becomes a spectacle Father won't hesitate to issue punishment onto everyone," Nasir breathed.
"I know. I spoke with Jiji hardly ten minutes ago, and then this. I lost track of him and... I can't sense Yukeu," he replied hoarsely. No more needed to be said as they burst through the door leading to a balcony overlooking the training courtyard. What was the courtyard, turned into a maze littered with traps, a common training field Callum acted on if he was in a particularly foul mood, or if he wanted to make an example of someone. Zihark caught traces of Jiji navigating through the maze but he could barely make out Callum at the far end of the labyrinth. Nasir ran to the edge of the balcony before getting flung back against the wall.
"I can't disarm his barriers, but there has to be a way to get around it. Jiji's almost through, maybe he'll make it," Nasir prayed softly pulling himself back to stand on the outskirts of the barrier. Zihark didn’t like his odds; he closed his eyes honing in on Jiji and peeking to what he was seeing. Zihark pulled out quickly to not distract him as he brought himself back to where he was. Determination mixed with sheer panic was what he felt, along with the need to hurry.
"There's a countdown and Yukeu's at the end," he concluded walking closer to the barrier.
"What do you think you can do about it? Neither of us are in any position to fight even if we were at full strength," Nasir interjected. Zihark wasn't listening. He ran his fingers against the barrier suffering only minor damage.
"Boost me up," he demanded and before Nasir could ask why Zihark had already ran back gathering speed then running forward towards Nasir. Nasir gritted his teeth but stood ready as he launched Zihark in the area. He somersaulted once, and a half before landing on the surface, the sheer force of the barrier threatening to throw him off. Quickly Zihark brought out an ice lance dragging it against the surface before running as the barrier began to crumple under foot. He urged his body faster, faster against the expanse catching a clear view of Callum and Jiji. That sinking feeling returned, attempting to drag him down, but it wouldn't have mattered. He was too late. From his perch he saw what Jiji did to save his sister; his stomach fell along with the rest of his body. Callum looked upward as he dropped Jiji.
"Insolence won't be tolerated, you know the rules," he announced.
"And rules are meant to be broken," Zihark hollered back hurling the lance straight at him along with a barrage of ice blades. Callum easily sidestepped the blades as he caught the lance in his hand shattering it in his grip. Zihark landed in a crouch willing the vertigo away as quickly as he could attempting to keep balance. "Run for it," he demanded of the trembling youth. 'Quickly take Alice and Kai, just go get away from here,' Zihark communicated with his brother. Jiji was still in a daze but he was able to will his body and began to run back, the labyrinth given way to snow.
"Unless you’re broken first," Callum spoke taking Zihark back to what he really should be dealing with. "No one leaves unless I deem so," he added. Zihark slammed his fists down bringing up an ice dome easily shattered from one punch but the fragments began to incase Callum. During which Zihark dragged a spear into an arc slamming it into Callum's back. He buckled, but not enough to fall him. "You honestly think you can beat me? When you couldn't at your full strength? Don't make me laugh, although it seems you have picked up a few tricks, so you still have your uses," he spoke wickedly. Zihark took a defensive stance when Callum left his sight. Despite the words and his wounds, Zihark found himself almost relaxed. Fighting angry or swayed by other emotions was worst then not fighting at all. He mirrored Callum's trick easily rolling out of the way of one attack jumping up onto a ledge to dodge another. Callum wasn't one to get frustrated so easily, so Zihark couldn't keep this up forever twice he's already mis-stepped, twice he barely managed to avoid a defeating blow; it was only a matter of time before Callum overpowered him, he couldn't do anything offensive. "Your showmanship is sloppy and it's getting tiresome letting you win, I'll end this now." As Callum foretold when Zihark attempted to jump out of the way he was brought down hard when a frozen whip snagged his leg dragging him into some of the earlier rubble. With another flick of the wrist Zihark was thrown up into the air to land painfully next to Callum. A glimmering metal was pointed at his neck as he looked up to Callum.
"Changed your mind about my usefulness have you? Going to kill me now? Do your worse it's nothing short I deserve for disobeying you," he spat at his face. The blade was pressed deeper drawing blood.
"Still got some fight in you. I'd expect nothing less. You'll get your punishment just as Hajin will get his, nothing has changed. You've only sped things up, nothing more nothing less." Chains shot up from the ground wrapping tightly around Zihark before he was thrown into a portal.


Another darkness reached his eyes, sounds of tortured reached his ears along with his name being repeated over and over again.
"Zihark, Zihark! Over here," Nasir hissed. Drunkenly Zihark's eyes landed on a faint glow of light. He attempted to will his body to move yet only managed to fall flat on his stomach. His body was numb so he hardly registered any pain, his senses equally numbed as he attempted to crawl closer to the light. Painstakingly process which would make a turtle look like a hare, and Zihark managed a final pull throwing himself closer to the light before the nausea hit sending him to heaving on the side. Somehow, he managed to pull himself to a seated position with some assistance from Nasir through the bars although the smell of burning flesh met his nose as he looked to the source. Nasir's hands were burnt showing the soft red tissue below with an ending curl of smoke to add insult to injury.
"Gotta love his sick humor, the Penance Cell? Really? Seems I blew it big this time," he mused his senses sharper here then where he was. In the failing light he could see the chains still wrapped around his body making movement far more a challenge not worth the reward. "I'm not dead, neither are you. Where's Jiji," he asked getting straight to business. Nasir blew softly on his hands as the burns began to slowly recede.
"Kai and the others are fine if you were worried, they weren't there so they had no reason for punishment. As for myself, punishment has been dealt and I survived. Kai and I managed to bury Yukeu, someplace Callum will not find easily, especially since he is far more concerned with other things."
"It's cruel to string a man along giving him false hope with the knowledge of the safety of others, but failing to answer his first question. Where's Jiji," he repeated on the edge of a growl his false eye glimmering menacingly. "I cannot see nor sense him or the others in this prison, I’m robbed of all my senses, so talk plainly before I lose whatever scraps of patience I have left as well," he added taking in a deep breath.
"It's been a month since that happened. I've only seen Jiji twice since then. I believe with you down here, Father has been training exclusively with him. I fear it's Ze Nihanto," Nasir ended sternly.
"Ze Nihanto? It can't be that, Callum waits til we're at least twelve before doing that, Jiji is still too young. He wouldn't break his own rules so easily," Zihark replied.
"He's not the same. He hasn't been since Yukeu died. When I saw him he hardly spoke a word to me, Kai, or Alice. I've caught glimpses of his old self, but it's strained. Usually we managed to recover after we've kuhanto but I don't see that happening for Jiji. He's been hurt deeply before it all, it would be much harder to recover afterwards. As for your own incarceration, I don't know a thing about it," he spoke with a sigh. Slowly he pushed himself up looking down at Zihark.
"I'm expecting at least six months. For the other reason he'd need me, I can't say, but I imagine that time is still a ways off. I'd hate to admit it, but we can't do a damn thing where we are. I certainly can't. Don't come back to see me, you're putting yourself at enough risk as is, and I wouldn't be able to look at Mira again if something happened to you that I caused. Watch out for the others and your own neck, I'll manage down here," he spoke sternly looking up meeting Nasir's gaze. Nasir sighed and nodded his head, before heading up the stairs taking the light with him. Alone again Zihark hung his head. "I'm sorry Jiji, I'm so sorry. Seems it’s me that can’t do anything right, not you."
  HanyouMoKushi / 7y 362d 21h 23m 58s
**=[ I feel like my story's inadequate after rereading all of these XD I'm sorry I couldn't think of a way to make it any better**


It was always so dark. One who feared the dark as much as he had no business there.....but he had no choice. He turned the corner and hurried to where he knew his room was. His sister would be in there, he knew. Sure enough, as he got in, she spoke.
"Brother? Are you running again? Father does not like cowards."
She reminded him, standing. The two were twins, and it was obvious. The two had the same dark hair, pale skin, red eyes. Both carried the name "Frost".
"I remember.....I can't help it sometimes though. It scares me, Yuu."
The eight yearold mumbled. His sister sighed. Her delicate features showed a mixture of pity and frustration.
"Jiji.....Hajin, what do you think father would say if he heard that?"
She asked. Hajin thought about it and smirked.
"Probably kill me. But he won't hear it."
He giggled, wrapping his arms around her in a tight hug nuzzling her. He let go and instead tugged on her hand next, eagerly.
"Come on, Yuu! Let's sneak out! We can have some fun for once, please?"
He grinned widely, his eyes hopeful. Yukeu looked at him, a little sadly. What was he thinking?
"Why do you insist on angering him? Y-you will only get in trouble."
Hajin's face fell. He'd wanted to play with her, outside, where they were almost never allowed to go, except when fighting. He'd wanted his sister to see the sun for the first time in years. After a moment, he sat on the bed, not answering her question. She hadnt expected an answer, apparently, and sat beside him. After a moment, Hajin smiled at her, a sweet smile. Cute.
"We'll do something in here!"
He said, excited. Yukeu shook her head slowly. He didn't get it. After eight years, he still didn't get it. Callum would kill them if they disturbed him. She stood, her eyes taking on a coldness.
"I won't. I want you to live. If we make too much noise-"
"You worry too much!"
"You worry too little! Jiji, please, for me, for father, for yourself, grow up."
There was something about her voice, some hint of malice. Hajin was silent. They'd never fought before. Not even anything little like this. Yukeu sighed. She felt bad, but she was worried for him! She reached out to hug him, but he pushed away and walked out. Yukeu just sighed, knowing it was best to leave it.....he would never calm if she kept pestering him. She knew that Hajin only ever held his temper in check when around her.  It wasn't like he could hide it - despite his sweet personality and cute smile, he was knowing for having a temper, and he didn't get angry as easily when around her. She felt even worse now! She'd totally rejected him! She shook her head and hurried towards the door. Maybe playing outside wouldn't be too bad?
"I'll play with you."
Yukeu's eyes widened as cold hands wrapped around her throat and Callum's voice almost seemed to smirk.
"We'll play a fun game.....and I'm sure your brother will enjoy it as well~....."
~
Why did she have to look to much like her? Almost like glass, yes, that was it. Glass. She seemed breakable, how small she was. The spitting image of.....
"Yukeu....."
"Hmm?"
Hajin's thoughts were interupted by his daughter, Yuki, bounding over.
"Ye~s?"
The four yearold had thought she was being spoken to. Hajin stared at her a moment. The sister he'd killed had come back to haunt him in the form of this small child. After a moment, he picked her up and went outside, placing her in a tall tree and, ignoring her frightened begs and cries, walked back inside.
~
He could see her, so close yet so far away. His little sister, dwarfed by Callum, alone with him and terrified, but he knew he couldn't make it in time.
"Yukeu!"
Her eyes turned towards him slightly and a sliver of hope appeared. She reached for him but was held back by Callum. She would feel the worst pain imaginable. Until her world ended, Callum would torture her. Hajin wasn't about to let that happen though. His time was almost out and he pushed forward. He was bleeding, cuts all over, burns, scrapes. He'd survived a maze of terror and he wasn't about to let it be in vain. As he reached out though, just inches from her, Callum scooped her up and spoke the two spine-chilling words Hajin had been avoiding as long as he could.
"Time's up."
"Jiji….."
Yukeu's pleading voice killed him. He wasn't about to sit here and watch her be in pain! Remembering something Zihark had taught him, Hajin lifted his hand and concentrated. A thin blade of ice formed in the air before him and flung itself straight through Yukeu's neck, killing her painlessly. Callum looked slowly at Hajin, who's eyes were wide. What had he done? He could almost feel Callum's anger radiating off towards him and as he turned to run, Callum grabbed his waist and flung him against the wall, holding him there.
"You'll regret that."
Callum's voice hissed. Hajin believed him.
  Hajin Frost [Jiji] / sandchild13 / 8y 155d 19h 10m 23s

"Memoir ~ Fallen"
Part Three of Three
How many times can one 'come back'? How many times can the same soul reuse the same body? How many times must one die, to stay dead? Miracles may be seen as the source of such outlandish disregards for the rules of the living. Miracle... or just some cosmic joke? Surely the fates grow old seeing the same person return to their playing field? Unless the fates are just cruel, sadistic, manipulative bastards, who enjoy and revel in the hardships of mortals. The more heart wrenching, the more deplorable, the more pathetic the individual is, the happier such faceless creatures become? Or were they furious this one has yet to stay in their cold embrace? If such a desired creature was to be on this plain of existence, would the fates want to do anything to have such a trophy as their own? Could it be the curse of all Fenrir, to suffer for eternity? The only difference being how they suffer? Rather in the afterlife, or being forced to return to this realm of existence? Fenrir are a dying breed, have been since their conception, such warmongering people couldn't possible shift with the changing tides, the different battlefields. Wars were fought by hand, and skill, now wars could be fought with words and wit. Such concepts are foreign to all Fenrir having been birthed for battle and nothing else. Or was the soul, just too stubborn to die? Each life giving it something to fight for, to live for? But to be constantly on guard for the next task, the next obstacle, in order to keep what gives them life, was it worth it? And if this thing was suddenly lost, would they have the will to drag the soul back through the jaws of hell? What if they obtained what they wanted? Would the body and soul finally be put to rest? Death seems to be the common factor in all such observations.

"When Angels are forced out of Heaven they become Devils." Sid Vicious~

Pain: blinding a pain, a numbing pain, a subtle pain, an aggressive pain; such hues, such variants of one idea. This surely had to be hell, his body must have been spent, he had to have finally been taken by the cold embrace of death. The Fenrir curse can finally proceed to the afterlife. But, why...? Instead of cold, there was warmth? Instead of nothingness, there was something? Parched eyes attempted to open, however something crusty, something hard was preventing such an act. Slowly Sven dragged a hand to his face, discarding the blood from his eyes, allowing them to see. His eyes began to water at the scent of death, and the lingering scent of burning flesh, a more acidic flesh, that only belonged to the beasts of the Shadow-Shifters. The Shifters! Sven pushed up swiftly, resulting in the mother of all headache followed by dry heaving.
“No, it was the music demons, not the Shifters,” he whispered correcting his mind’s mistake. He pressed his head to the earth resting on his forearms, attempting to will the pain away to some far recess of his mind, some dismal place that could handle it. He took in a deep breath, letting it out as a shudder. “Where are the plains,” his mind further asked. Where was he if not on the plains of battle? Or if not the where what about the how of getting to this place? A glimmer, a flicker of a thought crossed his head, as he pressed up from his crouch. He didn't dare chance going farther than where he sat, so he started to crawl, placing one shaking hand in front of the other, managing to make zero progressive distance. His back was in shreds the clothing and skin flapping in the wind made assurance of that claim. He worked his beaten body over to a dulled shimmer. His gaze locked onto the scabbard, noticing his own weapon has long since disappeared. Sven pulled it closer as he somehow managed to drag his ass to a knee then to a standing position. Each muscle twist, each turn screamed agony for his back and whatever the hell was holding him together. Images danced in his head, one being Tsung’s body as it hit the ground, there was a hue of something there a shimmer of magic, his eyes rested on a few flowers under the trees. "These woods...I know them...Miranda," he breathed that spark igniting a little more as his feet dragged him to the familiar path. She has to be alive, she has to be alive, he pleaded with whoever was going to listen to him as he made progress. The area around him was dead silent; no birds, no animals, not even a wind to stir the leaves. Such ideas led to panic in his being; with his last act to the Captain Tsung was able to send him to familiar ground, but what about her?
That home, his heart swelled, his mind going back to just days before when he would visit her, they would talk about everything, anything, nothing, she had another love fencing for her heart but she had told him, that she didn't want to choose anymore, that she only wanted him. Such thoughts helped to replace the ripped appendages as he nearly ran to the door damning to hell all his pains. His body slammed against the door a bit too abruptly as a high pitched voice answered.
"Who's there," the voice quivered.
"It’s...it’s Sven," he breathed, he heard the door creak open, followed by a sound that would haunt his dreams.
"Demon! Be gone, be gone, go die elsewhere, don't bring your troubles here, just go," she hollered. Each annunciation stabbed at whatever bit of heart he had left. He clenched his fist as he slammed it against the door. The reverberation sent Miranda reeling and the door open. Sven leaned in the door frame, his eyes in a fury until they simmered down, then they just looked dead. She was cowering on the floor looking up at him, with such fear, such hatred that he backed down.
"Mir..anda," he spoke.
"No, no, no!" she kept repeating as she began to throw whatever laid on the ground, most of which were her snipping tools for her flowers. Sven stopped intruding after a couple knives found flesh, and she had run out of room to escape.
"Who the fuck needs anyone," he whispered leaving from whence he came.

"He knew what a Fallen Angel was. An angel who went against the laws they were suppose to follow had their wings ripped out, forever grounding them to earth...Fallen Angels were scum of the angel and demon would, and killed off when found." Wrath Leben~

"Tch, is that all you can manage? Is this the best that the Seraphim Squad can do? Pathetic, weak, deplorable. Let me rob you of your miserable lives," Sven beckoned the remainders of the Seraphim Squad. Hakumei wasn't amongst them or else he may have lost what was holding this shell of a man up. He glared hard at the downed Angels in tangles of limbs and feathers. Blood speckled all forms. A glint caught his attention as he deflected the arrow with his dagger, cutting it in two. He dodged to the left rolling over to some crates avoiding a barrage of needles. Sven knocked his gauntleted hand against the crate, springing out his knives, jumping on top of the one shifting his wait to knock it over as he shot the knives into the wings of one angel. Tuck and roll as he found his body pressed against a brick wall, the sweet music of the angels reached his ears. Despite the bloodletting, he had yet to have killed anyone. At least none that deserved it. Some training couldn't be simply washed away in blood. If anything such training was only increased by the amounts of blood. Habits were a whole other story, and having lived more than his share of lives, he had plenty of time to increase and improve said habits. Sven shook his head as he pressed away from the wall looking back to the angels scrambling on the ground. "You caught me in a generous mood, get your hides out of here, next time, I won't restrain myself so easily," he sneered tossing the dagger and catching it in his hand, turning on his heel to wherever his feet would take him.
Wandering, could only take you so far, wandering could be the quickest trip to your grave then if you stayed in one spot. That was the Fenrir life talking to him. His blood lust has long since dwindled down, or some may say it had expanded into a more harmful practice. Sven couldn't find pleasure, in anything; he couldn't see anything aside from the ugly truth before him. He had his brother to snap him in shape before hand; such 'sessions' would fill that piece of anatomy in his chest. After that he had Miranda that may have helped peel away the blood and rot around his heart. Now, he had nothing, and nothing was how it was going to stay.

"We're both wounded animals, alone, unlike those around us, wanting to throw ourselves into everything risky, anything thrilling...We just want the memories to fade, just want to move on, find something to give us that spark of interest, just want to find someone who will accept us as for who we are attitude, nature and all." Wrath~

Another town, another place, another failure at trying to be rid of that organ pumping his life through every fiber of his being. Before it all, he wasn't one to simply lie down, or simply stand on the sidelines, if there was action to be had he would jump in first regardless on his own sake or those around him. Nothing meant he only had himself; he only had this one...thing to worry about.
"This, rotting corpse," he swore blindly throwing himself in the fray. Rather these thrill issues helped some around him he didn't care, he only cared to make this body move, make this body bleed, make it feel something. The best way for such a feeling was to be at death's door or shaking hands with the boatman having made it pass the bellhop and everything. Finally being done with this cursed life. The latter never seeming to befall his character. So he had to make do with the closest thing.
The rattling of chain linked fences danced about his conscious thought. He pressed his body against the fence allowing it to cushion himself away from the coming sword strike, the blade nicking his neck. Sven had taken his hand at the arenas, but the thrills were short lived he soon found himself leaving that scene heading to the grittier parts of society, the underbelly of it. His only talent was fighting, so he'd easily fight his way to the top, once or twice he trained others to fight. Only once did he train soldiers, the setting reminding him too much of the past, he needed to leave before he killed everyone. Or at least beat the memories from drowning his conscious.
"Is that the best you got? And you’re the leader of this place? Tch, must have fucked the last boss to get such a prestigious position," he sneered, feeling the claws of the demon snatch hold of his neck. Sven growled bringing his hand down on the wrist releasing his neck, with his speed he planted his hands on the ground as he landed a spin kick against the demon's chest knocking him back into the wall. However misjudgment was on his side as the spin left him more disoriented then he planned, the demons on the ground swiftly launching up pinning each limb to the wall, restricting any movement on his end. "Tch, can't do anything without your boys I see," he spat at the demons as each one took their shot at him, now that he was pinned nothing could hold them back.
Something though, through half lidded eyes he saw a figure and a very familiar sensation danced up his fingertips. Sven slammed his head forward right when the demon was about to take his turn, disorienting him freeing his leg as he kicked out of the grasp of the others. He fell hard to the ground when all limbs were released; he dove under the one, slashing at the exposed legs, destroying the Achilles tendon. Seeing as one was on the verge of death they became to back down, almost looking frightful at the Fallen.
"Seems something else caught my eye," he spoke vaguely slicing off his left ring finger. The onlookers clearly thought him insane. “Take it as a souvenir and I'll leave you the hell alone," he bartered allowing the blood to drip down and not waiting for their response he followed after the figure.
"I've been waiting to see you again, Ex-Captain of the Third Brigade," the voice responded turning around to face Sven. The figure was taller than him but that was nothing new.
"My rank is that of Fallen now, so I see no need to add all the extra words. Formality is something I didn't believe much in then as much now, Jiren." The figure pulled down their hood revealing a near look-a-like of his old private.
"Glad to see you are as sharp as ever sir, some of us thought your fallen status would have affected more than just your stature in the world," Jiren spoke vaguely with a chuckle.
"Give me a good reason to not kill you where you stand."
"Orders. You are no longer an Angel, but you are still under this quadrant as being...an asset so to speak. Something is happening, in Frost's territory. The details are still in development but it appears a school was set up there. You are the closest one in the area, and since you have no roles elsewhere the orders were for you to take part and investigate."
"And if I refuse?"
"Nothing, just the same as always, it’s not like you have anything to lose, and that's all I have to say. I bid you well sir," was the dutiful remark as he bowed his head and took his leave.
Sven had somehow managed to get back to his current place of residence, although the term seemed far too generous for a shack. He shoved open the door, falling on top of the only piece of furniture there being a mattress. His gaze moved to where a mirror laid on its side. The Fallen let out a sigh as he crawled over to the mirror, sitting cross legged. He peeled the top portion of his clothes off allowing them to fall to the ground, his other hand grabbed for the dagger as he began tracing some of the intricate scarring across his whole body. Each trail he added a little pressure beading blood. He followed up the lateral incision from his brother, pausing where it ended at his chest, then he followed the pale scarring of his own that lead to his collarbone more of a starburst affect courtesy of Ryoji. He pressed the blade against his throat drawing more crimson.

"Whatever happens, I want you to find happiness. Everyone deserves some, and it’s about time you got your fair share," Miranda spoke gently as she pressed herself against his back, her fingers trailing over his scar riddled body. Sven was silent. "Hey," she turned his face to look at her as she placed a tender kiss to his lips. "Promise me, kay?"
"I promise. But let me have you for one more night," he asked pulling her into his lap as he returned her kiss.

The dagger clattered to the ground swiftly as though it bit him.

"Living was for the weak, dying for the cowardly. Emotions: joy, sorrow, love, nothing but weaknesses."

His hands flew to his face as he attempted to squash the memories running his hands through his hair; pulling his body closer on himself.

"I gave up on finding a companion; there really was no point, who could love a monster like me? Who could be strong enough to take me on, and come out my master? It seems no one could, and then I met you, the male who fights everyone, no matter how strong they are, no matter what happened to him. I didn't have to put you through tests..."

Sven dropped his hands looking into the reflection, smearing the blood with his finger tips. "Just a dream, but I don't have anything to lose either," he spoke looking out the window.


"The less he knows the higher chance he has to live...Ha and the only reason to help him live...Would probably to die instead..." Sven~

Pain was something he could handle; pain was something he grew up with, something he breathed, something that was always part of his being. It would seem pointless for there to be one without the other, if there was Sven, there was pain; the variants of pain being as numerous as the stars in the sky. But feeling nothing when he should...when he knew something was to be felt, made him all the more uneasy. He couldn't move his body, his fingers not even twitching. It felt as though his body was stuck in time, just stopped in the flow as it still went on around him. And no matter what he did, he couldn't get things started again. His body refused to listen to him, refused to even show signs of disobedience. Yet, some parts were still firing; he could pick up traces, traces of something. He attempted to strain his hearing but it only led to static. His peripheral vision was just as hazy as his hearing. Dark, that was about the only thing he could gather about his surroundings. Outside, inside? He couldn't tell. However, the ever familiar scent of blood reached his nose. He couldn't do anything but wait, as it only seemed to keep increasing, and kept getting closer to him. Heavy foot falls reached his senses.
"Tch, seems I underestimated you again," Ryoji's unmistakably voice came to him. But it was strained, wavering, and then there was a twinge of familiarity chasing up the Fallen’s fingertips. The wings on the Angel's back began to dissolve up into the night sky. A wind blew some leaves within his line of sight, but the dispersing didn't end at his wings; Sven could still make out feathers catching the wind after the wings were gone. Hazel eyes, as old as dirt looked down at him. "Appears Sensei's words did hold some meaning, Svenny," he replied before the remainder of his body dispersed into feathers, climbing higher and higher into the sky and out of his sight. Strong arms, familiar arms, slipped underneath his body, pulling him closer to their owner.
"Wrath," he spoke although it sounded hardly above a whisper. Wrath glanced down, a strained-broken smile on his lips, his bangs covering his eyes. Sven took in a small gust of air as he managed to bring his hand up, slowly; painstakingly and brushed some of those bangs away. His fingers smearing some blood on Wrath's face. Wrath didn't say anything, but Sven could feel those arms pull him closer. A sensation he wasn't going to forget. "Tch, being depressed doesn't work for you pervert," he stated softly his arrogance lacing every word. He dropped his hand back to his side, letting out another wisp of breath. "Just let me sleep a bit," he murmured, his eyelids heavy barely feeling the faint traces of tears against his skin as his eyes closed one last time.
  HanyouMokushi / 7y 361d 16h 23m 53s

"Memoir ~ Angel"
Part Two of Three
Angels have been called fickle things. Humans and other mortals have had them pegged as holy beings of some other greater force. Some Angel scholars have labeled that as the 'Human Theory' despite being one of these races that have always been around or rightfully close to such a claim, they know little about their own history. Well more so how they came into being. But many other creatures have had similar ideas on how their species came to existence on this place. Humans though have had a rather large say on what some of these ideas are, since for the most part humans know little aside from what they can see before them. They have been called a shallow, young race for such blindness. As such, and having a bit of their culture steeped with them, angels, not all but some, have taken up the mantle of being keepers of these creatures called humans. Humans are certainly the most numerous on the planet, many other species taken similar guises as them. So in some regards, humans have been considered the beginning of all races. Ah, but there are plenty of scholars from all over the board that would flat out refuse such ideas as false, seeing them as demeaning to everything that made them who they were. Angels can trace some of their genes to humans, since some of these humans have transcended death to be given another chance. Others are born angels. However those becoming angels can come from any background, anything really. Many don't get the choice of having this second chance.

"Death is only the beginning." High Priest Imhotep~

"Death is never painless." Words muffled reach dead receptors once used for hearing. Death is never painless; no one said rebirth was any easier.
"Pacing, pacing, pacing, how much pacing can one man do," sighed the exasperated voice of one Ryoji Thanatos. Coarse, glossy, black wings shimmered in the moonlight, the wings looked to almost be melting in with the night, but instead of a spring calm, there's the sensation of an autumn night, the trees remaining just barely holding onto life until their lives are reaped for the winter season. Ryoji was one of those born angels, being able to trace his lineage back a few generations of noted angels in various fields of angel hood. Lately that field has been the Angel of Death. Angels, said to work as agents with the devil. Agents mind you that are still blessed by the realm above the earth. It has long since been a tentative agreement between the realms of angels and demons. However a necessary agreement in helping souls to transcend from their earthly bodies to someplace more. What this place is? Depends on the one doing the reaping, and the one being reaped. Rather the 'soul' goes on or not is based on the soul in question. Alas there have yet to be any agreed terms of the hows of such between anyone in any of the communities. Some are rather satisfied with this obliviousness; others are driven mad by such ambiguity. Although his field of choice was angel of death, to all those that really held power in the community, he was still an Angel in Training, a rookie. Here the term angel has been used to reference the species along with being a career choice; the career choice taking all sorts of routes. Where this angel in training was, was nothing more than a grassy field, a teasing wind blowing showing the signs of spring compared to Ryoji's preferred autumn. The ground began to tremble, ceasing the angel's pacing as he jumped into the air spreading those wings wide as a tremor began to roll across the earth.
Clawing through via tooth and nail, body and hand, Sven forced those limbs to work. Demanded responses from his body, ignoring the ennui that had long since settled into his bones. Firing the electrons to get the body to work efficiently. His lungs felt ready to burst, demanding air. Digging, digging, the male went about the motions of digging, preventing the gag reflex as dirt slid down his throat. Fingers brushed loose soil, and then a hand grabbed tightly around his wrist yanking with an inhuman strength, as he did his best kicking his legs to churn up the dirt to get out. Deep gulps of air fill his lungs as he broke the surface, the hand holding his long since released. Sven looked around lazily, all the sights being too bright, his energy spent as he rested his cheek against the dirt.
"Oy, you look like a little wormy there, you better hop to it or else you'll fall back down," Ryoji twittered crossing his arms at his chest.
"Back...down..." the words barely left his lips as his body went back on automatic dragging his carcass out of the ground.
"I can't give you all the details, not knowing much myself, you'll have to ask Sensei when we-" he looked back down to the boy, seeing he had collapsed from exhaustion. He let out a long whistle as he pulled up on the body holding it bridal style as he pumped his wings harder making time back home.
"What the hell are you doing Ryoji? I sent you out for scouting, not dragging back a corpse!"
"It wasn't a fucking corpse Sensei! It was moving and talking and all that, rather un corpse like behavior. What the hell was I supposed to do?"
"Leave it; it’s up to the elders if we are allowed to recruit more angels in this method. Are you sure you didn't do anything to it?"
"Sensei! I was in the northern quadrant of our territory, just where you told me to go for the scouting. You said there was an anomaly, the earth shook and he dragged himself from the earth! Don't blame me on something you told me to do!" Stormy eyes twitched open to the sounds of arguing, slowly but surely he dragged his body to a sitting position holding himself briefly keeping his gaze down. The fellow angel, Hakumei Thanatos raised a hand to cease further comment from her pupil as her gaze shifted to the male. Sven felt eyes on him shifting his gaze over to the two. His attention flickered ever slightly, his gaze turning steely as he grinned launching himself from the bed landing on top of the male of the angels, his dagger thrust into the angel's shoulder.
"I don't...take well to assholes like yourselves or bitches like you," his attention flickered to the other angel. Ryoji howled at the impact as he pushed up and grabbed Sven by the neck slamming his back to the far wall. Sven didn't waver as he kept that arrogant look to his eyes, kicking the angel off him falling to the ground. Ryoji glowered at the other, a twisted smirk coming to his lips as he drew forth from the shadows a sword.
"I don't know who the hell you were, but you're not that person any more, you were given another chance at life, to better serve your fellow man. None of us can hold out those orders if we're killing each other," Hakumei spoke lowly her holy lance materializing in her hand, shoving the butt end into Sven's gut, before pulling the lance up in arch slamming it against Ryoji's back.
"Fuck Sensei! I didn't do anything, he started it," Ryoji remarked from his face down position.
"What if you don't want to come back? And you have nothing to live for," Sven growled to the female a hand lying against his stomach.
"As to why you were given another chance,” she shrugged her shoulders. "None of us know such ideas like that, your best choice is to be grateful for the chance, don't question a gift."
"Sven, my name's Sven," he stated bitterly.
"I'm Hakumei, and you already met my pupil Ryoji. As of this day forward, you'll also be my pupil. I will get everything sorted out as the time comes."



"A beast who has lost his fangs." Vicious~

Time passes, it always passes, yet how it passes depends on those caught up in its currents. A year can go in the blink of an eye if one does nothing but wait for the end of their time. Perhaps that is all they can do, just go with the flow of the current, or throw themselves over its ledges attempting to stop or avert its flow.
"It’s all pointless, no matter the flow of the river, it always ends in death," Sven retorted low in his throat. Such years have already flown by him. He has moved up in the ranks of angel from Angel in Training, to the Dual Career of Guardian and Warrior Angel. His wings having long since fully developed, silver in coloration as his hair, many having called them reminiscent of a falcon's wing. Time changes all. Yet here he was, haven't changed a bit. All the angels have labeled him as a human, having said nothing on his life beforehand. Let them have their stories, he'd rather cut out all their tongues then hear them speak such nonsense. He stood under the shade of an old tree, his wings easily folded into his back. His attention vaguely on a small family, namely the little girl that has become his charge. Guardian Angels have taken various routes for their careers, some giving up their angel hood to defend their charges as humans, to live a life out with them, love them, and die with them. Such emotions were foreign to him, having been raised to be nothing more than a tool for the family; a tool had no need for such emotions. As such his personality developed late, most taking him as a prick for his rude manners and brash actions. Lacking the empathy that many claimed to be what helped them keep their humanity, to be able to feel and relate to others on such a personal level. "A waste there is no such thing," he growled leaving his post. He took this career in stride, remaining visible for the most part to mortal eyes, however being registered as nothing more than a memory, a fleeting thing that deserves no further thought. That was his life; it would seem hard to break from such a tradition for the rest of his existence.
Having accumulated such years, had allowed him to catch up on some of the history of the world, history of clans and the like. Hakumei insisted on it to be a better angel. He used it as a reason to not beat Ryoji to a pulp. He has long since acquired all his powers for his career choice, but he was nothing but a bother to him. Always throwing himself at him, in one way or another; the situations reminding him too much of his brother. Remorse was something he had yet to learn, he viewed such things as annoyances above all else. Sven was retracted from his thoughts as a hand landed on his shoulder tentatively.
"What is it Tanuki," he asked glaring over to the smaller angel, well most have called her a mechanical angel, more of a doll then anything yet she retained some more of her human qualities if he was to call them such things.
"Orders from the Elder. You are to lead an assault against the Shadow Shifters; Raphael believes they are up to something, their skirmishes being more deliberate as of late. It has been quite some time since they have reappeared in this realm, destroy them," Tanuki explained monotonously before an alchemic circle was traced at her feet and she vanished from sight. Sven ran a hand through his hair letting out another sigh as he repeated his own magic taking him straight to the barracks.
"Everyone up and prep for battle within ten minutes or I will dismember you, hurry up. Where's Tsung," he hollered as angels hurried about to their stations retrieving weapons and armor flying off to the archaic pad. Sven took listless strides to the armory securing his own gear, heading out until pausing, turning on his heel and throwing two knives towards the shadows. "Tch, fuck off Ryoji, unlike you, I have duties that need to be taken care of immediately, go haunt a cemetery and leave me in peace," he growled tying on his judgment sword at his hip taking the shape of his old scimitar. Seeping out of the shadows stood the Angel of Death himself, his signature scythe laying languidly at his size as one hand was caressing the weapon and the other held the two knives.
"You're aim is getting off, usually you puncture an artery when you’re so fiery, have you lost your edge so early on? Before the battle? Tsk, tsk, that won't do you any good, I would hate for you to fall to some pesky shadow dancers," he swooped from his spot grabbing Sven's throat and pinning him to the wall, his lips attacking his neck, his other hand trailing under his armor, tracing the various 'love bites' he gave him in the past. Sven growled causing Ryoji to bite harder at his throat bringing up blood to the surface. The warrior snaked his hand out from behind him as he seized Ryoji's hand, snapping the wrist with a quick flick. Ryoji stood back, licking his lips and allowing his hand to fall at his side. "Do give them hell, that way I may be given the chance to 'uphold' my duties," he sneered before allowing the shadows to envelope his form once more.
"Fucking, bastard, asshole," he seethed readjusting his gear and heading over to the other troops. It didn't take long for them to find their target, an abnormal darkness covering the region. Sven landed, placing his hand against the ground signifying the others to spread out. "Stay here Tsung," he spoke to his private standing up.
"Ah, what is it sir?"
"The Shadow-Shifters, we haven't had any skirmishes, let alone any diplomacy meeting with them or their current house representative."
"Sir, not to sound rude, but what do you mean? They tend to come and go as swiftly as well shadows sir."
"Exactly, why are they risking themselves more? For nothing more than skirmishes? When was the last time we lost any significant territory to them? Why now," Sven further pressed the questions. However the sound of battle interrupted any and all further thoughts. "Fuck, it’s a fucking trap," he hollered throwing himself into the fray.
In some cases, trap may have been too elegant a word, or may not have given the Shadow Shifters enough credit. The battle being of their beasts, only some of the actual shifters about the ground. But the darkness was on their side with the fading light and the sheltered parts of the areas prevented many of the angels from full movement.
"Damnit! Fall back! Fall Back and regroup at the barracks, drag the injured with you, leave the dead," he barked orders folding his wings in tight to allow him the full range of motion. Wounds peppered his form from the shadow beasts. Creatures that could easily shift their form into anything they or their master desired of them. Killing them took time and patience, something Sven could take part in if his mind was in the game for such simple tricks as he would label them. His gaze hardened on the shifting shadows of the beasts, he looked over his shoulder catching the remainder of his troops falling back. Tsung hung back begging his superior to run with them. Sven discarded the thought giving another motion for him to get the hell out of there. Grudgingly the order was fulfilled as Sven smirked to the creatures encroaching upon him. "You really want me to go all out," he chuckled throwing his sword into the earth, a pentagram drawing on impact with a handful of chants written in the angel tongue and even of the older races. "Blood Dominion," he whispered slamming his body down on the ground, splashing up blood, turning them into a needle storm. The firmer he pressed his hand down on the earth the weaker he got fueling the magic with his life. A retreat was heard amongst the howls of defeat as Sven embraced the earth.

Small dainty hands fluttered over his body. There was a sensation there, but he couldn't place what that sensation was. It made his body flare up and cool down, steady his heart and quicken it, all at once. This unknown factor dragged his body up from the depths of unconsciousness to looking up at a simple roof. He was…bandaged? By who? He didn't send out any orders to retrieve his body. Was this death all over again? Too many questions half of which made no sense, he rolled on his side from the mat he laid on looking down at flowers. A large assortment of flowers lying at his feet. Sven slowly slid his legs out from under the sheet resting them on the earthen ground.
"Oh? You're awake, you shouldn't move around too quickly though," a melodious voice entered his sense as he looked over to the source; a young woman, with hazel hair and chocolate eyes. Her clothing labeled her as the working class type person yet she held this air of regality about her. Sven shook his head swiftly standing up before falling forward. Yet it was slim arms that held him still.
"Release me, bitch, I have other errands that need to be taken care of. I don't have time to play house with you," he growled at her. In response she let out a giggle holding him still.
"If you can walk, I may let you go, if you can't then I get to help you, deal," she asked smiling as Sven kept his face down. He attempted to will his feet to move, move his body, say something anything! But nothing came from him aside a long sigh allowing his body to go limb. "Then it’s settled," she smiled leaning his body back on the mat. She knelt down with him, brushing a few loose strands of hair out of his face. "Haha, you can glare all you want, but that won't help you in changing my mind. A deal is a deal, a fair trade," she smiled again. Sven shifted his glare to the ground as he found himself tongue tied. "Miranda," she stated.
"...Sven," he muttered.
"My pleasure Sven."

"Sir watch out!" Sven face planted with the ground as his private shoved him there.
"Get off Tsung! We need to break through their lines."
"Sir, you're in no condition! When your charged died, the Guardian bond was severed," Tsung rested his hand against Sven's chest which elicited a hiss from his lips. "Such a move has left your body strained you can barely stand let alone swing your sword.” A pause. “Is she worth it," he pleaded. Tsung was the only one he told about Miranda. He needed a trusted ally, and who else then the man that had his back in all their battles. Sven rolled out from under him switching their positions as he threw up a shield.
"Just shut it, she's safe, and of course she's worth it. We need to end this swiftly so I can be certain," he stated causing Tsung to recoil off him. Blood lust was something that he had always seen accompanying his captain, sorrow, hate, neutrality, but now, he saw uncertainty. He may have even gone as far as saying fear. Such emotions, such things were never associated with the captain.
"Right, my apologies, then lets hurry," he pulled up a strained smile, until it melted away, along with his head. Sven gawked watching the body fall to the ground his head rolling to the side. He stood up swiftly tuning out the sounds of battle, the clash of steel, and the melodies of the demons bleeding his senses away. One moment he was standing, the next he was slammed on the ground heaving up blood, his fists tightly clenched.
"Fuck," he breathed pressing his head against the ground, feeling something reaching into his back. Clawed hands tightened around the base of his wing, yanking up destroying all the muscle fibers connecting it to his body, the wing scattering into feathers. The claw was dragged out just as swiftly as it impaled him. The other silver wing flapped meekly, until another thrust and scattered feathers, his head exploding into a myriad of fireworks as his back was on fire. Yet the battle still ranged, it seemed it was in its own world so far away from his senses that he was moving at a snail's pace. Blood streamed down his back as he somehow managed to get back to his knees. Sharp nails dug into his scalp pulling him up.
"Playing with a mortal? Playing with a human no less? Tsk, tsk Svenny, I thought you knew better," Ryoji spoke wickedly sweet running his tongue against his cheek, savoring his pained look. "Rules are made to prevent things like this from happening. But if you don't listen, there are severe ramifications that must be acted on. Looks as though I win this hand, Svenny," he smirked placing his scythe at his neck morphing it into a rapier. He yanked the half conscious fool to his knee forcing him to look at him. "Arrogant and deviant until the end, marvelous," he spoke plunging the sword into his collarbone reveling in the shower of blood as he dropped the captain to the ground.
  HanyouMokushi / 7y 361d 16h 30m 23s

"Memoir ~ Fenrir"
Part One of Three
Living was for the weak, dying for the cowardly. Emotions: joy, sorrow, love, nothing but weaknesses. Killing is an automated process, throw emotions in the mix and the machine is useless, scrap metal, deserving nothing but destruction for failure of holding out their one mission. Fighting was living, killing was for the brave. That is what everyone was taught in such a warring nation. No permanent name, no permanent status, permanence would result in an end of the chaos. Chaos is what its people breathed, ate, and slept. Yet they were nothing, nothing but mortals. Oh no, these people weren’t humans, they were beasts.

"A Ravenous Beast. The same blood runs through both of us, the blood of a beast who wanders, hunting, for the blood of others." Sid Vicious~

Beasts that is what they were. Monsters at the beck and call of anyone looking for their services, their only price being blood, gallons upon gallons of the currency. Loners, nomads, that was how they traveled, dust in the wind. Fenrir is how one would classify their race. 'Human' far too giving, far too 'humane,' and 'Demon' not nearly vicious or vile enough. Legends, myths, and such have spoken it was this species that began Loki's madness, the cornerstone of Ragnarok. 'Family' was a loose term within the Fenrir, did this mean they didn't exist? No, merely not as what many would consider 'normal.' A 'Family' was who or what you traveled with, by blood or choice it mattered not, but when one enters the family, your life is no longer yours, merely a tool for the family to use however it was deemed helpful. This certain troupe only consisted of a pair of blood brothers, a mother long since left, tales have been woven she was now birthing demons in hell, a father roaming the earth as another branch of the Fenrir race. Such brotherly blood ties were not rare, however neither were they popular. The older had four years up on his brother; skin pale and cold as the snow, an exterior harder than any diamond; a shock of darker snow for hair loosely shaping his face in jags of white. Frost like eyes when times were calm, a fiery left orb in times of battle this rage seeping into the skin to spread out, increasing his strength exponentially. Clothing suited for travel, an airy tunic of onyx with pants and gauntlets to match, a crimson trim showing rank in this group as leader. His brother, shorter then he and most others that have come across them had gray replacing the snow white hair of his elder, a dirtied color to epitomize his taint on the world; a blight that brings death to any who are not on his side. His clothing took a certain personal flair, still meant for traveling yet something to be remembered by those that manage to survive, such a triumphant only being rewarded with a slow, agonizing death. Charcoal tunic and shorts, matching knee highs to lessen the restriction clothing would give for movement. Buckled boots and gauntlets, each having their own assortment of knives hidden within the leather. A lethal threat in any situation. An off white jacket added for warmth with its own assortment of belts, depending on his mood affecting what each compartment possessed.
Both brothers were bathed in crimson, each going on their own through the current mission. Massacre the village where their employer's enemies were said to have been in hiding. Rather truths or lies, a mission was given, now they only had to collect their fee. Morals were wasted for the humans. A beast has no need for such things. The eldest took the name of Yuan. His weapon was held loosely in his hand as he ran through the streets, a smirk pulled at those lips as his weapon opened up into a fan, each blade being made of a hybrid of diamond and mithril. His grip tightened as he threw the fan amongst the crowds, heads severed from the bodies, torsos being sliced apart. It was slow motion for the Fenrir, as he ran through the rain of blood, a Kilij sword in his hand as he added to the dismemberment, children, women, it made no difference to him. The other was known as Sven, his approach being less refine. Sven had speed over his brother so he weaved in and out of houses like a snake, daggers thrown into each chest; those that failed to cooperate with his daggers had to suffer the gauntlets; slits in the material allowing for a quick release of knives in-between each knuckle, mutilation being the main purposes. A scimitar rested against his hip, although it would have to wait til next time for it to drink the blood of the fallen. Yuan grinned as he retracted the boomerang-like fan, a practiced flick of the wrist helped to clean off most of the blades, although they glimmered rubies in the failing light. Another motion and the blades slid shut as the fan was secured to his back once more. Yuan looked over to the setting sun, staining the sky a vibrant crimson, mirroring the very ground they walked out. Sven went back through the houses, retrieving his daggers and other knives that scattered the ground.
"Father would have been disappointed," Yuan purred in his brother's ear, one arm looping around his waist pulling the smaller frame closer. His other hand held onto his crimson dagger. Mithril again was the material used, along with some garnets dug up in the area that gave the weapon its reddish hue. Slowly, he began to pierce Sven's stomach, the blade sinking deeper with each nudge from Yuan until the hilt rested against the flesh, his fingers turning a fresh sheen of ruby, as he leaned more on his brother. Sven couldn't do anything, he may have had speed over his brother, but Yuan was far stronger, the remainders of blood rage in his system only making the male's chances far worse with putting up a fight. Yuan was the leader of this troupe and could do rightly whatever he pleased with those involved, so long as there was some honor to their codes of conduct. Even so, Sven never was known as one to give up. He bit down on his lip, so as not to give the pleasure his brother sought from him as he felt the dagger inside him. He brought his free hand up to grasp at Yuan’s, however the man’s grip was steel not giving up as all the motions really did was add more pressure to the dagger. He attempted to fight out of his grip however Yuan had already ceased such movement, looping his leg around Sven's tripping him up further on the blade and crashing both bodies into a wall, Sven barely managed to hold his body with his free hand, the other pinned to his side, up until Yuan overpowered him pinning the smaller male. His breathing came out rugged, panting. Yuan leaned more on him kissing his collarbone, nipping at the flesh, his tongue slipping out between those lips to tease Sven's. "You'll have to be punished for such weakness. Or else you'll never survive," he cooed throwing his brother to the floor, the blade slicing through his torso due to the momentum. Sven didn't move. As much as fighting was life to a Fenrir, pain was the other side of that coin. Pain was used as training, punishment, pleasure. Lust was not an emotion, so such trysts were all well and good within the Fenrir code of conduct, pleasure from the killing and fighting, was also seen as acceptable in Fenrir society.

Blood oozed out from the wound, Sven didn't flinch when his clothes were torn off. Stormy grey eyes barely registered the disrobing of Yuan; they didn't waver as his body fell on him. Not once did a sound leave his lips, no groan of pain, not a moan of pleasure, stormy indifference as his body took the punishment. Rather it was minutes or hours, Sven knew not as his eyes fluttered open looking to his brother whom was fully clothed, a bone secured between his teeth serving as a toothpick as he looked down to him. That same smirk came back.
"Wondrous, as always dear brother. You will make any Fenrir proud. A war is coming; you can taste it in the air. Sounds like business will be booming, who will pick the winning side," he stated grinning wolfishly to the smaller male. Bruises covered his body like a speckled blanket, a few of those speckles drawing forth crimson paling lines etched through his torso and shoulders, clearly the attempts to draw forth more blood. Morbid, masochism, sadism, such qualities many Fenrir held onto. Sven being even more vicious then his brother in a few of those categories, if given the chance. A jagged cauterization scar was forming chasing around his torso. Yuan wasn't one to take the easy way with healing, waiting meant losing business, and business was all they had going for them. Sven was equally like minded. Yuan carelessly tossed the dagger at Sven, instincts on his side as he caught the blade before further impalement. "Keep it; call it a gift from me to you. May it drink deep in the blood of your foes," he stated flippantly leaving his brother to catch up.
War was everywhere, you only need to look in the proper places, and you can find a war going on at any time. Peace was an illusion the 'saner' and 'respected' dwellers of this realm and the other were trying to make a reality. As long as there were differences there was going to be wars to settle such things. The aces of many of these armies were the mercenaries hired to fight and die in their stead. Fenrir being some of the most sought after battlers, being born and raised in the arts. This was a faceless ruler, with pointless ideas, Sven lived for the fighting and bathed in the killing of others, ideas meant nothing to him. A machine programmed to kill, that was all he was, and all he ever would be. No one would mourn his death when it came, no one would know of his passing save the one that killed him. Not a thought would be passed his way when his time came. Such a life would send him to only one place, begging for anything else would be insulting the pride of the Fenrir, destroying any scrapes that would make Sven, Sven. The battle was long, endless in the eyes of the greenhorns that Sven could see. The devil's smirk was on his lips as he easily slid under, up, and over the army men. His skills surpassing any and all of them, weaving through the crowds, dagger poised to strike for the soft spots of the armor; soldiers having no time to react as the attacks were swift, and anything but painless. Few attacks struck home on his body, but nothing that slowed his rampage, he was the wind, he was the fucking grim reaper on that field, he was invincible, he was a Fenrir. No one could stand against his onslaught; time fell to the recesses of his mind, it meaning nothing to his current goal of eradication.
Everything ends, not anything or anyone can stop this inevitable fate all things share. Sven had launched himself off a fallen spearman; the spear serving his spring board, at this height the sight below him was simply marvelous. The opposing sides in conflict, stages of brutality, and stages of dying, the blood springing forth from wounds painting the sky and ground in spectacular shades of red. Sven landed on his knees, that smirk never leaving his lips, his concentration never breaking, as he stood up parrying one blow with his gauntlets counter attacking with his dagger at the neck of the armor. Pain ripped through his being, a gasp was all that managed to seep through his lips, as the Kilij attacked his soft underside, a long arch of the blade and Sven could feel each tissue strand rip apart, the blade destroying his sternum, the momentum freeing ribs from their proper place impaling the neighboring organs. The force lifted his body in the air, until the blade ran out of body veering out his left pectoral.
"As you have slaughtered life, it’s only fair you are slaughtered at the end of yours. Death is never painless. May your life deeds, be forever etched onto your soul. That is the life and death of the Fenrir," was the haunted eulogy as Sven's body came back to earth. Yuan straddled the body looking down as he grabbed the collar dragging the corpse up to his face; he tenderly caressed his brother's lips. "Sayonara, Sven," he spoke dropping the body for the battle wouldn't wait for anyone.
  HanyouMokushi / 7y 361d 16h 37m 5s
"Brothers in Arm"
Part One of Two
"Zagi...come on this is even extreme for you," pleaded a bit slightly wavering voice. Pale hands clutched onto Zagi's arm. Zagi looked bored towards the youth who dared to say such a thing. Granted it was only his brother, Ikouse. Rosary hair, slightly longer, along with being more well-kept, eyes a deep red, didn't even flinch when those bloodied orbs landed on him. Zagi sighed as he pulled his arm free.
"Tch, you worry too much Ikouse. How is this extreme at all? This is what I was born to do," he stated clenching his fist with a smile as the dull neon lights flickered over his claws.
"But...the arena? This isn't like all those other tournaments you entered, there are some real killers. Those that far surpass your own experience."
"Come off it will you? You never worried so much about all the other fights, hell it was you and me at the end for some of those where we decided on a draw. Since neither of us wanted to forfeit and lets face it; pulling punches, throwing a game doesn't work for us."
"Fuck it Zagi! This is different this is serious! Have you heard about their champion?"
"Eh?"
"Idiot! Of course not you just decided to stop by here on a whim. You know that's a bunch of bull. You knew full well what was here, admit it!"
"I haven't the slightest idea on what you mean. What about this supposed champion?"
"There wasn't a name, no one I asked seemed very willing to state his name. But they call him the 'Arena Painter.' He's never lost a match and he gets his name from how he fights. Limbs, organs, blood, all over the place the arena is his canvas, its fighters his ink," Ikouse explained lowering his voice in case any were around. Granted no one that gave a damn was, this was one of the older cities. Long forgotten, left to decay, home to all sorts of characters, all what remained of what once must have been a gorgeous city but with wars in the area it was no surprise it has fallen from grace. The building where the Nues stood was the most foundationally sound, not that that took much. The only new thing to it was the flickering neon lights, in the place where torches once covered the ground with light and warmth.

"Really? I think I may be crushing on this guy," Zagi retorted with a grin. "Can't wait to meet him. Hurry up Ikouse, or I will leave you," he added as he rammed his shoulder into the door as he felt it slowly give way to a gaping darkness.
"Zagi...don't leave me! Someone has to protect your ass," he murmured as he stepped forward, pausing when he felt cold metal at his throat.
"I can protect myself just fine, watch what you say, or it will be you that needs the protection," was the reply as the pressure left his neck. Ikouse fell silent as he allowed his other senses to wander. He rubbed his hands against his jacket, and then his hair as he looked to his fingertips. Massaging them together he created a few sparks that formed a circle in his palm. He held the little light up as he looked up and around. They entered what could have been a visitor center, the ground was stone of some sort with a few scraps of carpet so faded he couldn't even guess what its original color was. Furniture or what remained aside from the termite damage and years of neglect looked to be of a hardened, tempered wood, something with ash. Yet it was the walls that were the most interesting, paintings, shreds of them and tapestries; showing fragments of faces, of far off places. The walls held significant damage from what ranged from scorched marks, water damage, blunt and sharp weapon damage, along with the newest damage being of modern projectiles. "Give me the light," Zagi demanded shaking Ikouse from his reminisce as he held out his hand to where Zagi extended his claw gauntlet siphoning the electricity from him as he held it forward. A hallway, somehow they found the means through a hallway with cracked mirror frames, and blocked or destroyed wooden doors, their contents being hard to decipher with the poor light. Zagi held his hand in front of a wall.
"What is it?" A raised hand for silence as Zagi laid his hand flat against the wall, pressing his ear to it. Satisfied he stood back.
"Found it," he replied dissolving the sparks, stepping back with his arms outstretched, a posture Ikouse knew.
"Zagi we don't know how sturdy this is," he tried poorly as a means to dissuade him. Ikouse sighed as he walked to the other side of hall, allowing his fingers to trace over the brickwork. He paused as he pushed a certain block, and at that exact moment Zagi was prepared to destroy the wall until it gave way to an opening...and a road block.
"Awe fuck, what the hell," Zagi asked hastily having lunged face first into a Stone Golem, the blood dripping down his hairline proved his head wasn't quite as thick headed as Ikouse pinned it as being.

"It's a stone guardian, you know from the old stories."
"And what good does some story do us to get in," he asked looking expectantly to Ikouse as he dabbed the blood off on his sleeve. "And you said you didn't need me," he murmured stepping around Zagi who stood up following drudgingly behind him, securing his gauntlets on a belt. "The idiot behind me wishes to partake in the arena matches, we ask for passage," he asked the golem. The golem was, well goliath in stature but simple in design. It had a round body, long arms, short stumps for legs, and no head. However it communicated or not it seemed to understand them as it stood to the side revealing yet another door. "After you," he teased his brother stepping to the side as Zagi stomped his way pass and he pulled open the door; temporarily killing their senses. Noises bombarded their ears, lights frying their retinas, and the heavy stench of blood in the area made it impossible to know right from left. It was Zagi to recover first. The lighting wasn't as bad, but traveling in a gloomy building did wonders to change that. The lighting was a mix of torches surrounding the walls along with magically lighting via those who could wield it to even pixies of that element; giving it an archaic aura to the place. The area was huge, and even so that was putting it lightly. But that was the beauty of magic that made something so large appear to be just a building. It was mostly circular, but the subtle buzzing that reached Ikouse's ears, told him that the magic here was thick, strong, versatile, so it could easily shift to whatever those inside needed it to be. I didn't think there could be this much, this dense of magic in the area. But I guess that's why it's called the Underground arena, Ikouse considered as his eyes glanced around the room. Benches stretched with the room. The room was packed with species from all over the supernatural realm, from all classes. Shouting in all sorts of languages the only commonality being all was pointed to the massive pit of an arena. The seating arena separated with bars of some origin, for the safety of the customers and what not no less. The air thick in scents of sweat, steel, and blood, mingling between with the scents of fighter and spectator alike, made it nearly impossible to hone in on any in particular. In the arena, any and all are welcome, this sense of community is what kept it under the radar of those who would want to break this up. Granted it’s rather obvious that business is good as always.

"Zagi? Zagi, where are you," he attempted to yell over the crowds. Zagi stood at the front of the hoard, managing such a position through some well placed kicks and non-lethal jabs. His gaze was on the arena as were everyone else's, but he had nothing at stake with this so he silently watched on. Red, red was the first that came to mind, the arena was covered in it, the walls, the ground even the bars with dried on blood. Two figures were in the center, both covered in blood, although one looked comfortable in it, the other just tolerating it. The comfortable looking one was a blonde at least if the sections of hair that weren't dyed crimson were anything to go on. An almost ghost like skin color, or a very light wheat. Clothing seemed comfort over fashion splotched in blood. Yet it looked as though not a speck reached his face. Steely eyes that was all he could say with the feeling about them not getting a solid look. His gaze landed onto his weapon of choice as they shimmered in the blood, begging for more. He could tell, or it may have been his bloodlust getting the better of him as he clenched his fist, shocking a few people to back off through the sparks that were flying from him. He hardly had the chance to even look at the other opponent as he watched the blonde lunge forward. He still has that much stamina? He must have been fighting for awhile now, to control the expenditure of energy, Zagi considered as he saw the other was feeling more the fatigue. A howl of despair as the blond was behind him, his claw having snatched and kept an arm for a souvenir.
"It's only a flesh wound, surely you can't be done yet," the man spoke. The other opponent was on his knees clutching the stump, blood pooling between his fingers. Howls and urges of Finish him off! came all around him. Zagi felt no pity for the man, pity was something that didn't really suit him, again could be his rather harsh nature that was coming out with such thoughts. The man glanced upward to the howling of the crowd. The briefest of moment Zagi's and his gaze met. A jolt of adrenaline shot though him as the other looked away. The blonde bowed his head in mock sincerity as he threw the arm off from his claws as he attacked again from the side, taking the other arm with this go. He's doing this for the pure sake of doing it, been a long time since I saw such devotion. Such artwork. So you must be this Arena Painter. I can't wait to get to know you, Zagi promised himself as the opponent was very much dead. Guts ripped out peppered the arena like garland; a part of a leg on one side, the foot of it on another, such beautiful destruction. Zagi was getting light-headed from the high he was on. As a finishing blow the Painter stabbed the neck and pulled up, shredding the face making recognition impossible. Hoots of satisfaction, growls of defeat, surrounded the arena as the Painter himself took a deeper bow.
"Ladies and gentlemen, there you have it! Our winner, Wrath! The Arena Painter! Give 'im a round for another bloody match at the Arena!" hollered the announcer from his booth as Wrath straightened himself up and swaggering out of the arena.

Zagi watched his retreating form as he nearly ploughed Ikouse over making his way toward the announcer.
"How do I enter?"
"Eh? Excuse me?" Quickly hands latched onto the announcer's throat.
"The arena! How does one go about entering the Arena?"
"A fee is needed, and then you battle your way through four rounds, the final round being against the current champion," was the raspy reply as the announcer tried to shake the crazed man off him. Zagi growled releasing him.
"That seems far too time consuming," he stated dancing sparks in his hand.
"There you are. What the hell are you doing," Ikouse demanded.
"Why can't I just fight the champion?"
"Kid are you crazy? You can't just fight the Champion, we have rules here and you need to prove yourself besides, someone like you will just get yourself killed." It was Ikouse that stood in between the two, preventing Zagi from slicing the man's neck.
"What's the fee for entry?"
"Ikouse! There is no point to pay, since it’s rather live or die here, the price is life. That work for you?"
"Usually we have some more formal payment-"
"I can let him go you know."
"Ah, right...fine he can enter, you still have to fight through the other rounds like anyone else," he hastily replied noting Zagi was stepping back.
"Let's just do them all in one go. I don't see the point for having to wait," he growled.
"Lad! I have been far more than fair with you, we have rules that must be abided by-" Zagi lunged from his throat however Ikouse was quicker shielding the announcer.
"Ikouse!"
"Single-man elimination matches."
"Wh-what?"
"You heard me. Have all the fighters down in the waiting halls, and send one up after each defeat that way you can skip over the pomp and circumstance with announcing them. There have been such matches here before am I correct?" The announcer was getting rather frazzled considering this...child was taking over his job. However eyeing the older of the two ceased his tongue's flapping.
"Very well, best get prep down-" And before he could finish his statement Zagi threw himself into the arena through the only possible opening on this level.


Zagi landed in a crouch as his eyes flicked every which way scouring the battlefield for opponents. Ikouse looked towards the announcer as a means to encourage him to get on with this before heads were to roll. While that was happening Ikouse headed over to the opening leaning against the railing.
"Ahem! Ladies and Gentlemen! As in celebration to this auspicious day in respect to our Champion," Ikouse mouthed 'Zagi Greil' towards him. "We have a new challenger and bringing back the old and classy single-man elimination tournament! Give a hand for Zagi Greil!" Some applause was heard but hardly the roar that came with the current champion's victory. The noise meant nothing but irritation. During that commotion Zagi slid his hands into the silver claws at his waist. Simplistic in design which made it all the more appealing to destroy those who say they are better than him. Shortly after the dulled roar, a call for the match to start was announced. Through the proper entrance strode forth a young man. Well young man being slightly older then Zagi. His skin was a ruby red and a prominent serpentine tail was spouted swaying to and fro behind him, wielding a double bladed axe. Serpent ran his hand around the weapon as it became incased in flames. Zagi scuffed his foot as he raised his hand beckoning for Serpent to make the first move. He gladly took the invite, blowing a spout of flame towards the Nue. He smirked raising his claws crossway defensively. The air turned thick fiery as metal met flame, yet that was not the only thing. Between the claws electric particles were jumping to and fro gaining strength. However Serpent wasn't going to allow his attack to be just that. As the flames spewed forth he swerved to the right kicking off into an angle towards Zagi's exposed abdomen. Zagi deflected the flame between him and Serpent causing smoke to billow forth. A clash, as Zagi raised his arm catching the blade just barely feeling some of it strike skin, while his other arm pushed his arm towards him disentangling the lot. Zagi skidded to a halt as the other did likewise.
"Is that all you got? I was hoping for more of a challenge," he sneered snapping his fingers as Serpent growled dropping his weapon, electricity sparking still from it. Seeing as his opponent was disarmed Zagi did likewise tossing his claws off, but before Serpent could react, Zagi lunged. His hand at his side where his other held onto his wrist, Serpent summoned a fire shield, but Zagi was quicker. His hand exited the back of his chest covered in blood, electricity sizzling out. "Weak," he murmured retracting his hand as the crowd went wild with the early carnage.

Ikouse was not one of those screaming fanatics; he was the one standing on the upper railing staring hard at Zagi. Despite their differences and Zagi's attitude towards him, he really cared about his brother. But this was one of those times he rather wished he didn't know him. Can't exactly choose your family; a groan came at the very mentioning of family. It was damn bloody hard to keep track of seventeen siblings. He was still in the process of trying to figure an acronym out for them all, mostly to those looking in since he knew his family....mostly. The thought of family made him tilt his head over to one of the notable 'fancier' parts of the seating arrangements. There he saw three males, one of which being the arena painter himself. He was so laid back and hardly watching the fight as the next opponent went in. Ikouse wasn't watching the match either being entranced with the others, and maybe finding a way to not get Zagi killed. Life without Zagi...dismal was all that came to him. The painter was in a fresh set of clothes with some beverage in his hand sharing it with the others in the group, his hair still damp from the shower. More shouts were heard as Ikouse merged with the fellow spectators getting closer to the group trying to go unnoticed. He paused blending with a group of nymphs, siphoning out the scents he knew and their locations.

Fey, his gaze hardened to the battle. He didn't know much on that particular species, rumors and the like but there was definitely something more to them then what he first perceived.
"It's rude to stare and not so much as give a reason or a name," remarked a sultry voice included with a jolt of electricity chasing up his spine. It left a tingling sensation all over but not enough for him to buckle over.
"It's also rude to attack while someone's back is turn, agreed," he asked turning around to finally face the man. They were roughly the same height where as this newcomer had a lither built frame compared to his.
"I was repaying rudeness with rudeness. Who are you," it wasn't a demand...per se but there was more conviction then needed in that expression which made Ikouse straighten up.
"Then rudeness to all. You a high blood? An attitude like that would amount to it." The Fey's lips turned upward in a crooked smirk which didn't do much in relaxing his nerves. He already had Zagi to worry about, he rather not have to deal with another, although he brought this one on himself.
"Of a sort. Xavier Leben." Leben?! Damnit it Zagi, why you have to get tangled with them, he berated his idiot brother's actions as the figure of Wrath soon became all the more clearer.
"Then the other must be Zsadist. Ikouse Greil," he returned in kind.
"Indeed, and the fool in the arena is your brother then? Such unchecked behavior, I'll be amazed if he makes it through all the rounds," Xavier stated flippantly with a pause that made Ikouse hold his tongue. "Wrath will kill him for certainty at the final, best start saying your prayers," was the finished remark as the Fey left his side as silently as he came. Ikouse bit his lip walking away from them as he found himself standing back where Zagi jumped in. The final match was about to begin.
  Zagi Greil / HanyouMokushi / 7y 361d 16h 38m 50s
**This story takes place when Yuki was five, just a little bit before Liriel was killed. Iraki's about seven, Jun-Yin's about six, and Koran's about nine so going to be a bit more immature. At this point in the story, Iraki and Jun-Yin didn't hate Yuki yet, but Koran did and Hebi.....well, he was more neutral I suppose. Enjoy. Also, sorry it's so short. Next will be longer.**


What had woken him, he wasn't sure. All he knew was that there had been something, a sound, a feeling, somehing, that had brought his sleeptime to a grinding halt. Little Iraki opened his eyes to find his eyes staring into slightly glowing crimson ones. He gasped, scrambling back in shock as a tiny squeak emitted from the tiny form standing there.
"I-Iraki....."
The voice mumbled. Iraki blinked.
"Ah.....Y-Yuki?"
He sat up a little straighter, only to be knocked down again as Yuki suddenly wrapped her arms around him, burying her tiny body into his.
"I haven't seen you in weeks! What did Hajin do to you this time?"
He asked, lifting her onto his back and walking out. She unbelievably thinner than the last time he'd seen her. In fact, she barely weighed anything.


Yuki took a long moment to reply.
"He locked me in my room and told me when I figured out how to get out than I could come out."
She explained. Yuki was about the equivalent of five at this time, so obviously it wouldn't have been easy. It had, after all, taken her a week. Iraki set her down and looked around the "kitchen", which did nothing to describe the room they were in. It was simply a food storage area. They cooked it themselves with magic, and if they couldn't they'd either eat the stuff that didn't have to be cooked or starved. And with the risk of being poisoned, it was usually the latter. Iraki grabbed an apple from one of the shelves and gave it to her.
"Here, apple."
He murmured. Yuki grabbed it and ate it quickly. If they were caught down here - well, there'd be hell to pay. Plus, she was freaking hungry.
"I can't find mommy."
She mumbled.
"Do you know where mommy is?"
She asked him. Iraki tensed, his mind thinking back to three days ago. Liriel was still alive, but Yuki wouldn't like what had happened to her. It was horrifying.
"Yuki?"
"Yeah?"
She looked up at him, head tilted, innocent eyes wide with curiousity and worry. She was munching on the second apple Iraki'd given her, eating this one a bit slower. Iraki nearly burst into tears. How was he supposed to tell her?!
"Yuki, mommy didn't like you being in that room."
He mumbled finally. Yuki tilted her head.
"Hm?"
"So she and Hajin kept having fights....."
He kept watching her. She wasn't getting it! It was frustrating, he didn't want to have to tell her that.....
"Hajin hurt mommy real bad. She'll be alright though, I think."
He nodded. He'd decided to just be vague. The little girl didn't need to know the details.


Yuki looked down, trembling a little bit. After a few seconds, she turned and walked out, or tried to. She was stopped by a larger body, another brother. She squeaked and turned to run back to Iraki, but Koran's hand grabbed her collar and she was lifted up off her feet, squirming and kicking and crying. Iraki bolted up.
"Hey! C'mon, Koran! Let her go, she didn't do anything!"
He tried. Koran growled.
"Neither of you are supposed to be down here! Wait 'til I tell Hajin!"
He warned. Yuki shrieked.
"Nonononono!"
She begged. Koran ignored her though. He held the little girl up high as Iraki tried to grab her.
"Give her back! C'mon!"
"If I cared to know, I'd ask why you three are down here. But as it stands, I'm sure a simple punishment will do."
The speaker's voice was deep, chilling. It was obvious who it was. Koran and the other two froze. Hajin stood at the door, an undeniably irritated look on his face. He was dressed in the clothes he'd worn that day, so the three children weren't quite sure what he had been doing. In any case, he had obviously been interrupted - either that or he was just in a bad mood. He usually was, but he had good mood moments occasionally. But he also had his really bad mood moments. Koran stepped forward and pointed at Iraki.
"He was down here with Yuki, he probably helped her escape."
He said matter of factly. Yuki shook her head.
"N-nuh-uh! I got out by myself! Really!"
She sniffled. Hajin glared at her.
"And yet you immediately ran to your brother for comfort."
He growled. Yuki shrank back a little, fearing Hajin would end her then and there, but a second from appeared in the doorway. Liriel.
"Hajin, stop it!"
She snapped.
"Iraki was watching out for her, as a good brother should. Koran, let her go."
"....."
"Koran!"
Koran sighed and let Yuki fall to the floor. Yuki ran to her mother quickly and was lifted into her arms. Liriel laid Yuki's head on her shoulder and rubbed her back. Hajin turned to her and crossed his arms.
"Maybe if you didn't coddle her so much, she wouldn't be so weak!"
He hissed. Liriel just held Yuki closer.
"What, and let her turn into some animal like your sons? I won't have it! It's bad enough you won't let her see Br-"
"Don't. Speak. His. Name."
Hajin moved slowly forward until the woman was backed against the wall.
"I should rip your throat out were you stand."
He hissed, his hand reaching for her throat. Yuki squeaked.
"No!"
Before she could even think about it, she'd reached down and bit hard on his icy hand. Large as it was, when Hajin rocketed his hand back and looked at it, two tiny pricks of crimson were slowly making their way down. Liriel tensed, expecting her daughter to be killed then and there, but, to her great surprise, Hajin suddenly laughed, wiping the blood on his pants.
"So you do have some fight in you."
He teased. Yuki hid her face in the space between Liriel's neck and shoulder, but Hajin forced her to look at him.
"We'll get it out of you in good time."
Hs smiled. It wasn't comforting though - Yuki whimpered.....the smile was demonic in appearance, and it felt like every evil in the world was packed into it. He looked at Liriel and the smile disappeared. Back was his cold gaze and unfeeling scowl.
"Now put the thing to bed. You two!"
He turned his attention on the brothers.
"I will talk to you in the morning. Dismissed."
And with that, the 7'3" demon turned and left the room. Iraki and Koran hurried to bed while Liriel walked up to Yuki's room.
"I love you, Yuki, remember this."
She murmured. She layed the shaking girl into her bed and sat beside her.
"I will stay until you fall asleep. Then, I must go."
She murmured. Yuki nodded and fell asleep almost instantly. Liriel sighed, stayed for a few minutes longer, then left.
  Yuki (young) / sandchild13 / 8y 329d 20h 49m 38s
"Angel See, Angel Do"
It was only a scratch, no need to have gotten so bent over it you hag, grumbled one Ryoji Thanatos, Angel was his species, and Death was his game. Average more or less in the gender and such of his race, ratty pants, with a semi ratty off-white shoulder tank top, feet bare, hair shaggy and brown. A real Shinigami...granted you wanted to insult him. Angels of Death and Death Gods being completely different. Take to note though, they possess the same abilities only difference being the method they use. It is based on the vanity of each one that they say they are not the other. Shinigamis and Angels of Death, a wonderful combination to lighten any mood, especially if you have both parties riled up or drunk out of their minds, and best to have amazing insurance. But no matter another time, another place.

Bloodied seemed to be the way he liked to find his happiness, another trait shared with the one that got him here in the first place. Location: Outskirts of Grenzen. Reason: Recon and Punishment.
"I'll be holding onto this until you get back and report," ordered the hag he was stuck with as being his Sensei. Pink-haired, short, and a bit mouthy being Hakumei Thanatos, no relation. Seraphim Rank and teacher of the basics of Angelism, then they would get divided out to their respected position. However Ryoji and fellow angel Sven were...special cases. No one wanted to deal with either of them until it was time for them to be following orders.
"What the hell, Sensei?! How can I do this without my damn arm?"
"You run your mouth just fine without it, so think of a way and show some gratitude. The very first lesson was on becoming ambidextrous," was the curt reply as she held onto the arm in question. Ryoji glowered at the arm then to his Sensei's face. Angels were hardy species, so losing an arm isn't a huge deal. The bleeding eventually subsides and then it just goes numb. A creeping numbness though that can lead to full on paralysis. However in Angel society, angels can share magic, only as a restorative type, a healing. So since it was Hakumei that did dismember him, it was her magic that was helping him to not pass out or die.
"And you call me the sadist! Seems a bit of a switcheroo Sensei!"
"I can lop off another limb if it will make you happier. Consider it all as a part of training, along with punishment for what you and Sven did," she stated tilting her head back.

And with an equally disgruntled face was Sven, covered in bandages along with some very evident bone fractures, namely seeing as the bones had pierced the flesh.
"I don't see the fact though why you had to break my legs in the process of this punishment," he growled back as he was in a handstand on a very small piece of solid ground being over a pit. Wings were out helping with the balance but it was only a matter of time before Senpai numbed them too. "You ever think about going back to the damn frontlines? You know do some slash and stab? Or why not as a fucking interrogator? Certainly get them to talk," he panted sweat dripping down to the chasm.
"I find it better to teach others in order to prevent the graves from rising. Besides, you should both feel special that I was asked personally to teach you both."
"Smug much?" Not much else left the shorter one's lip as he gawked at the ground leaving his one arm, quickly righting himself only led to overcompensation and thus him falling off said pillar. "Damn it! Hakumei," was the muffled call as she clearly didn't take well to his comment, immobilizing the wings.

"Unless you want to join him in further training Ryoji off with you," she replied waving him off with...well his arm. Ryoji growled as he had some sense to bow.
"I still get to kill you Svenny, so don't go dying from the hag's training," he called after as he saw Hakumei turned kneeling over the pit tossing Sven's dagger down.
"If you can stop your fall in five minutes and get out of there in another hour or so, I'll say you have redeemed yourself. Sound fair?" Ryoji heard muffling of a damn and the piercing screech of dagger against wall as he himself took his leave walking through the portal Sensei created for him.

"What the hell did we even do for her to be so pissy," he growled as he scoffed his foot against the ground ignoring the superficial wounds he got from Sven, the stump did stop bleeding and now it was just numb however as to why he was walking then flying? The numbness spread a bit more then he would have thought as he couldn't feel his shoulder thus one wing was limp, feathers brushing against the dirt. "Recon for what you hag," he hollered up at the dusky sky his fist clenched.
"Well, well, well, seems I found myself a lost half dead bird," cooed a voice just out of his peripheral vision. Growling at the tone, Ryoji looked over as he bent his wrist summoning from a plume of shadows his scythe, nearly regretting the moment he did so at the added weight to cause him to stumble forward. The sickle bit into the earth to prevent him from completely falling over.
"You know, you caught me in a real foul mood at the moment, pretty boy. And I rightly don't want to play with you at the moment, so sorry, but it seems I'll just kill you and get on with this," he stated as he grasped the shaft, shrinking the size slightly so it wouldn't be as cumbersome. He dragged the blade as he pulled up on it sending a trail of stalagmites to the foe as he rested the sickle against his chest.
"Birdy has some spunk, and how generous you are with sharing that," was the retort as he stood his ground, the race of stalagmites ruffling his pink hoodie, revealing equaling pink hair, even caused the chain on his black pants to jingle, he cracked his knuckles as sparks were seen dancing between the claws. He ran forward kicking up dust as he jumped up, landing on the peak of one stalagmite as he propelled himself off that into a cyclone with claws poised to strike.

Ryoji barely managed to shuffle the scythe off as he met the claws, however the propulsion from the man forced him to his back as blood spurted from his shoulder.
"Hooray, for you. You hit my bad shoulder, I didn't feel a thi-" he was cut off as he felt the male push one clawed fist further into his shoulder pinning him to the ground. He leaned over looking over the smudged dirt on his face, hazel eyes old as dirt, before his lips met his, snatching the words from Ryoji. Oh, he wasn't done as he bit hard on the bottom lip pulsing a small spout of blood as he sent the electrical current through his lips. That current fired up his nerves as Ryoji growled into the kiss allowing this Nue to take full advantage of his weakness shoving his tongue further in. His free hand traveled down and under his shirt resting on Ryoji's stomach. The Angel's gaze widened as he felt those cool fingers trace his stomach along with the cat scratches from the claws, sending small sparks to dance up and down his abdomen, firing off pain sensors from his previous wounds. Much to his chagrin and before he could really stop it, a moan left his lips, as his attacker released his kiss, his bangs dancing in front of his eyes brushing Ryoji's brow.
"Zagi, Zagi Greil," he breathed into his ear causing a hitch in Ryoji's breathing and his heart to pound. "And I'm claiming you as mine, little Birdy. I can do so much more," he smirked into his neck.

"And what, makes you think I want to be claimed, Zagi Greil," he questioned, a shimmer of seduction there as he felt his body relax.
"Your body, it tells me all I need to know," he replied kissing his neck as he dragged the claws slowly down his stomach freeing the blood from the cage of the flesh. Each stride down the claws bit in further if Ryoji was anywhere but there, he would have registered his splotchy vision, the pain flaring up and spreading outward, this dizziness coming on. Oh no, he found himself arching up into the pain, perhaps begging for more, as each trail Zagi sent volts through him, not enough to kill but certainly enough to keep him conscious. Consciousness was all he needed. Without a second thought Ryoji managed to summon his scythe morphing it into a dagger as he plunged the knife into Zagi's stomach, just then Zagi did likewise impaling the claws as far as he could. The motion landed the angel on his back, where as the Nue stood up yanking the claws out as he rested his hand on the hilt of the blade.
"Ryoji Thanatos," he retorted with a smirk on his lips, making him look a little less than an angel as the blood lingered on his lips. Zagi nodded his head in understanding as he pulled the blade out piercing the angel's good wing in a single motion. He raised his hand as he licked at the blood.
"Don't go dying any time soon, you hear," he stated as he turned on his heel and left to his own duties of finding his charge.

"What the hell happened to you?” A thump across his chest, eyes opening to a cloudless night sky, a kick to his ribs followed by a gasp.
"What, Sensei? I was serving my punishment, this is where you left me, remember?"
"How the hell did you get yourself in such a state?" Ryoji grabbed his arm as he began to sit up only to fall back down feeling blood trail down his stomach. Hakumei sighed as she crouched down to him and reattached his arm as he clearly seemed too occupied with the further staining of his shirt. She shook her head yanking the dagger from his wing dissolving it in the air as she propped herself near him as she pulled and got him standing, using herself as a crutch a very short crutch but a crutch nonetheless.
"I don't rightly know," he answered quietly, which was not the Ryoji she knew.
"Okay...well then what did you do to your arm?"
"My arm? You took it! You gone senile too?" Now it was Hakumei's turn to be cross as she let out a huff of frustration as she gestured to the arm she reapplied. Bemused he brought it up to his sight as he saw it looked rather okay, until he turned it inward. Bloodied, he always found happiness in that fashion, along with scratches, that didn't quite look like scratches. He stopped causing Hakumei to almost gag herself with his weight as she looked up at him. Ryoji smirked with a chuckle shaking his head and moving them on.
"And you had the nerve to call me senile," she murmured. Through the dripping blood on his arm was a message. Claimed and ravished by, Zagi Greil.
  Ryoji Thanatos / HanyouMokushi / 7y 361d 16h 42m 25s
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