Oh, How the Mighty have Fallen (Malady)

[Colt]

22nd of Winter Was he dead? Had he not passed on? He couldn’t feel anything. Face, arms, hands, legs, feet, if they were there, he couldn’t tell. Was this was the afterlife was like? He didn’t know what the afterlife was supposed to be like, but he’d never though of this. Then he felt it. A breath. A small breath. His breath. He was alive. He could suddenly feel his hair moving in a slight breeze, and heard the wind bending around something just the right way to make an eerie howling sound. Was it still nighttime? He was suddenly overwhelmed as everything rushed back. The days spent alone, the black bay, the she-leopard… but then what? There was a black hole in his memory. He remembered getting up earlier in the night to take a walk, but it ended there. What had happened? He concentrated every fiber of his being, willing his body to obey him, and slowly, very slowly, he cracked an eye open. He saw nothing but darkness. He tried to turn his head, but he couldn’t. He felt the skin pull, attached to whatever he was laying on. He shifted slightly, freeing his hand from its prison beneath his leg, and it slowly inched upwards. He slipped his fingers under his cheek, where they immediately met resistance. Mud, perhaps? He worked his fingers around, breaking the barrier, and winced at the ensuing pain. His strength was returning. A great sucking sound accompanied his groan as he pulled free of the floor. His face throbbed as he looked around and took in his surroundings. He couldn’t see very well, but he could tell that he was in some kind of cave. There were vague shapes in one corner that didn’t seem to belong there, but he couldn’t have cared less. He brushed his liberated cheek and felt warmth. His spine crawled. Blood. He had been glued to the floor with his own blood.

Looking at the male, so ordinary in his appearance, so weak, so hairless, she couldn't quite recall why she had decided to keep him. Almost like a pet. She never had a pet. But she had had many tasty meals. The fight had been sweet. It rang with the sweet nectar of victory, of delicious adrenaline, spiking her veins. Defeat was a foreign flavor, one that would sour her tastes and toughen her lungs with sickly surrender. That was something she was not even aware of. Perhaps if she had ever lost, this achievement would've taken her even higher, but for now she was sky high, as exhilarated as she had ever known herself to be. They were in her roost, an eyehole in the jagged fingers of a cliff. A drop from it would promise the strangling clutches of death. It was as cold as the icey vice of a grave, clutching a being in the inescapable woes of cessation. The bottom of the floor was slick with the feces of her past victims, old innards, bones, and septic poisons, all brewing in a miasma of toxins. There was higher ledges, one to which a creature with wings could escape to. Anything other escape would condemn a certain death. The struggle had been tough and seemingly everlasting. She had lost memorance of the blows and bites and scratches and kicks, so numerous they were that they had all blended into one single entity. She was in awe of the strength of that human, how weak she had once thought them, how feeble and incapable. This one, however, seemed honed for survival, on its own, estranged from its own kind. They were similiar, she supposed, caught up in their own self imposed exiles. The difference was, he was a dirty beast. A meal. A lesser creature. No closer to humanity than those bloodbags they so devoted themselves to. "Morning, my sweet Drykas boy. How much of a fight you did pull... I'm not quite sure what fate your foolishness has condemned you to, but I will be glad to break you." The jagged vocals of her native tongue echoed off of the cave, enveloping the hollow in a vortex of sonancy. She scrambled down the sides of the den, bouncing from the floor to the faces, an agile creature born of this cavernous life. She paused before the man, and lowered her face to his, a sharp-toothed smile greeting him with cruel intentions visibly evident.

[Colt]

As his senses returned, he was hit with the smell of excretion and carcasses and poison. The smell of death. The floor was slimy with gods knew what, and he shivered with something he could not name. He needed to get out. He stood, and his vision suddenly swam with spots. He sagged to the side and his shoulder met with a wall of stone, and he allowed it to support him until the cloudiness was replaced by a pounding headache. The soft whistles and shrieks rebounded off the walls of the cave, and he stiffened. He knew those sounds. He was not alone. His feet scrambled for purchase on the slippery floor and he bolted for a sliver of watery moonlight. He needed to get out. “Shyke!” The floor stopped quite suddenly, descending into a cliff. He could see the ground far below, and his stomach fluttered. Gods, that was a long way down. He heard movement behind him and turned slowly to face her. She crouched on a ledge above, her face lowered so that their noses were almost touching. Her eyes glittered wickedly, and her face was twisted into a smile that promised horror. He stood frozen, caught between a certain death and almost-certain death. He supposed that he should be glad that he was alive, but the way she looked at him, like a cat ready to play with a mouse… he didn’t know if death was the worse fate. Instinct rooted him to the spot, unwilling to break eye contact with the she-zith.

[Malady]

Her shaggy mass of a pelt hung in a barbaric costume, disgusting and fascinating at the same time. Rusty crimson matted portions of her coat, while others hung clean, still others locked in an embrace with reminants of the earth. Her hair still hung as it always had, in wild curls, spiraling in uncontained twists, as uncontrolled as her own self. They shone with the beauty of a vivid flower, reminding its admirers of the savageness of blood with the striking prowess of purple. She pursed her lips and blew her life at him, the warmth of her breath rank and hideous with the memory of her past meals. She laughed, a melodic, entrancing sound, so euphonic, harsh in its contrast to her guttural native tongue. "Eat now? Eat later?" She spoke in the language of common. Like honey, the words drifted off her maw, floating through the air as if a sweet melody. It was the ghost of a legend, proof that there was such a fem's voice that could captivate sailors to their deaths. It was a lie, a hint at unbearable beauty, cloaking a disaster so acute, it was malady. She extended an arm, her talons reaching for the male, aiming to caress his heavily clothed figure. They were crusted with the congealed syrup of the man's own body, mingled with the dried sap of the tree. Her other hand reached to her own plump lips, and she began to slowly lick them clean of all traces of crusted matter. "We play now, we do." Her words were broken, but clear. She would have a bit of fun with him before she killed him.

[Colt]

Her voice was liquid sugar in the air, and Khasr felt it deep within his chest. He knew the words, sweet sounds laced with malice, and shivered. His skin crawled as she reached towards him, claws glimmering Leth’s light and coated with something he could not identify, though he had no doubt that his blood made a significant portion of it. He remembered those claws as clearly as he remembered his own name. He remembered how fast they could fly through the night, how much pain they could inflict with frightening ease. He remembered her eyes, how they could glow in darkness, how they could sparkle with terrible joy. He remembered her teeth, now uncaging musical evil, remembered how they could flash white, how they could pierce his arm without effort. She touched his face, and he did not dare pull away. Her claws left black trails of whatever they were clogged with on his skin, and her touch was so light that he flushed with chilling heat. He knew her words, and they stripped him of any comfort, any hope. He knew full well the he was at her mercy, and so he simply stood. Waiting.

[Malady]

Her gaze pulled back from his eyes, capturing the sight of his full form. They slowly assessed his figure, her eyes taking in all of him. She held no shame in her expression, no shyness. For all she cared, she owned him, he was hers, and there was no such thing as a moral code. The optics were slow moving and steady, taking in every sight without hesitation or reason. A slight purr settled in her throat, signaling that she was very pleased with her latest victim. Without warning she leaned forward, very close, so that her face was in his, her body hanging perpindicular to his. She brushed her lips againist his cheek, and her fingers trailed down his jaw. "No fight me?" She cackled, as her tongue lightly flickered towards his maw. She leaped from her perch to become level with the human, and began to pace the floor. The marshy flooring molded each footstep, leaving a harsh memory of her movements. There was no way to escape this prison, physically or mentally. Physically a drop would kill you surely, whereas mentally, there was no escape from what this place was. The atmosphere, the sight, the smell--everything reeked of her, of the image of her kind. "No fight, no fight all?" Her broken words still managed to sound strung together in a ceaseless tune, as beautiful as a songbird's call. She crouched down playfully, daring him, inviting him to make a move.

[Colt]

Ever so slightly, she pulled away. And ever so slightly, he relaxed. Her eyes roamed over his body, brazen in what they took in, and a deep purr erupted from her throat. She suddenly leaned forward, and Khasr feared she would push him off the edge and held still some more. Her face was close to his, very close, close enough for him to feel the heat emanating from her as her lips slid over his cheek, as her claws dragged along the lines of his face. He tensed at the whisper in his ear, twitching when he felt her tongue ghost over his temple to the corner of his mouth, and instinctively drew away a fraction of an inch, unwilling to risk any kind of attack. She drew back and leaped from her perch, a devilish grin on her face. She knew he was trapped here, in more ways than one. Escape. It was such a simple word, one that had never really meant anything before. There had never really been anything to escape from that was more drastic than a conversation, and even then escaping was as easy as slipping into the grass. Escape. It had been such a disregarded word. Now, the word hung before him like a brilliant star in this blackness, impossibly far away. No. No, he couldn’t think like that. He could escape. He would escape. He had to. His mind didn’t allow him to think about what would happen if he didn’t. She crouched and slowly began to pace from one side of the cave to the other. She was smiling, displaying massive canines, and her eyes glittered. She was teasing him. It was instinct that directed him when he dropped to his heels, ignoring the dash of pain over his chest. His hand snaked out in a clumsy punch, striking her on the shoulder, and he sprang forward, past her, and effectively removed himself from the danger on the ledge. He wheezed and felt fresh blood ooze from torn clots, turning to face her. His knees were bent and his arms were in a clumsy defensive position in front of him, while his green eyes locked onto her amber ones, watching. His gaze was how dark with anger, and his mouth was parted to bare his own teeth in aggression. His pain, his weakness, his dwindling chances for survival; it all was blotted out by bright, burning hatred.

[Malady]

The moments he relaxed made her tense. The moments he was tense, she relaxed. It was a tango of opponents, of strong and stronger, of predator and barely prey. His slight comfortableness signaled he was not quite as paralyzed with fear as she thought he ought to be, making him dangerous. The more he began to question the roles in this game, if he continued to do so, the more she might have to throw down, show him why he was here in the first place. For now, she just let out a solemn hiss, not quite fearful in its own tone, but losing its playful edge. She knew there was one thing keeping him standing. Keeping strength within his bones. Unlike some of her meals, he had not given up yet. Perhaps that was why she kept him. A raging fire sweeping over the land, leaving one charred, ruined, and twisted tree. Still its roots plunge deep, still it continues to fight on. Yet it has no greater purpose, no companions, no intelligence, so why does it ceaselessly care to live? A deep curiosity began to well in her consciousness, an all consuming one that wrapped around her mind, sheathing it in an impenetrable obsession. She had heard of those Zith before that had become captivated by their captives, but never had she understood why. In fact, nothing of her kind she much understood, which was why she was so alone, enduring a solitary life with pleasuer. Never before had prisoners appeared before her as anything but a variance in diet, a nice bloodbag to consume. This interest, blossoming and growing into a craving even deeper than bloodlust, had turned her mind a foggy hue--the color unknown, but present, the turbitiy thick but thin, swirling yet still, maddening yet calming. Unknown to the creature yet, his life had just been prolonged. Yet he was not in any circumstance safe. This game had become all the more valuable to her. She thought of this as she stalked him, taunted him, strutting her power of him, flaunting. Cat and mouse, bat and Drykas. Perhaps her haughtiness was the reason he caught her off guard as a heavy blow rocked her off balance and out of mind. With a furious screech she stared at this male in disbelief, questioning what beast in its right mind would try to retaliate against her, to actually consider her offer of her sickening idea of play. The display of his teeth instantly mirrored in her own visage, a play for dominance, a still mate for ferocity. "No game, no you win." She snarled, her song-like voice seething with poison, furious of his attack. Instead of condemning his fate to death, he had prolonged his life, sealing her twisted fixation. His spirit was one she was rather curious of, and his fight was something she craved to destroy. With a kick of her heels in the gripping sludge, she sprang at the male, claws aimed at his shoulders, eyes trained on his heart. For now, she would take out this frustration upon his body, as she figured out how to extinguish is fire.

[Colt]

The lazy amusement in her eyes had vanished as she regained her balance, replaced with… he didn’t know. He took a step back under her stare of angry disbelief. She snarled at him, words sickly sweet, and he took another step back. He saw her shoulder cording, her back coiling, and braced himself. She sprang with a hiss, claws extended and glinting dully, while here eyes were as hard as steel. He knew couldn’t run. He sprang to meet her. He knew that his wounds and pitiful skills would do little to nothing to damage her, but he had always been a stubborn beast. With nothing but his waning strength, he collided with her in midair. He was suddenly on fire as gashes he hadn’t known of tore open, and his already-crusting clothing was bathed in fresh blood. He felt it bubble up his throat, hot and metallic, and he coughed it out weakly. His breathing became ragged and he staggered, struggling to keep his feet as the world rocked drastically. His wild staggering led him to a wall, and he gladly deposited the majority of his weight onto it. His eyes, though blind, swept the darkness of the cave with defiant, almost suicidal ferocity. oocSorry about the short post. I’m not the best at lengthening action.

There was definately an advantage there, his weight againist hers, almost a solid hundred pounds over her. Definately an advantage she would make sure he was not able to manipulate. His height outdid hers as well, making him a rock-hard rocket againsit her cat-like spring, him thirteen inches her senior. Years of being this minute size and having a sick addiction to disposing of larger prey had honed her to the skill of taking down these larger opponents. In her mind, it was all a duel she had won before. A dance she had choreographed. A practice she had perfected. As they met, something splattered her face, stinging her eyes, making her growl with annoyance at the temporary handicap. The close wrap around made her body completely capture his, and his completely wrap hers. They caught in a sonic thud, melting together, becoming one, seething and undulating with fight. Before she could practice her wrestling might on him, he fell back to the floor, and like an infant, retreated into a corner space. She suddenly felt empty and alone, that momentary slap of body against body making her crave the company. However, she wasn't cold. In fact, she was quite toasty. Warm fluid was now all over her coat, and with an annoyed thought she wondered if the male had urininated himself. However the smell was dizzying and delicious, and almost like a sibling to her, she knew was this substance was. She brought up her hands, also covered with the serum, to her maw. With slow deliberation she licked the substance off her fingers, taking thorough enjoyment of this treat. It bursted and flashed behind her eyelids, and her body shuddered in pleasure. He was so delicious, so sickly sweet but full of the tang of game and toughness. It was a flavor she didn't get too much, that of a true survivor, of a warrior. Her eyes, though dilated to full capacity because of the darkness, were now pulsating in excitement, adrenaline, energy. They were refreshed with the joy of the hunt. She began to strut forward, making sure to keep her footsteps and wings silent against the night, feeding into the male's fear. The night was were she belonged. It accepted her like its own particulate matter, wrapped around her in a blanket, shielding her from the rest of day, from sights, from sounds. She was created from this night, and there she would remain, blending into it was if she was the darkness. "My small boy, injured. Your taste, very good. More?" Without any more warning, she sprung, aimed to leap on top of him.