.The Puppetmaster.

[Taboo]

“I exalt a perpetual need to cling to that which is dying. I must preserve the wilting flower, the degenerating corpse, the waning sunlight. If such insurrection against the force of time and nature incurs torture at the memory of wasted beauty, then so be it. I’d rather eternally mourn the loss than forget. Failure to remember curses the besotted one. They wallow in their errors and their ingratitude because they forgot the exhilaration of living.” And he was cursed. Precious memories and lives sieved through him as grains of sand tossed about the impatient sea. A lack of conscience, a lack of regret compelled him to release everything. Whenever the colossus exited a former life, all the ideas, cultures, and people washed away. Perhaps the only benefit from all his encounters was his ability to mentally vivisect tendencies in physiology and psychology increased significantly. This day marked a vital change within his psyche. Platonic chasms of iridescent white revolted towards the mangled form of his lover. He knew fervently that he would not forget her. Her name would lie vehemently and painfully next to his.

The dying seraph delicately angled her skull to discern him more adeptly. Huge, cragged outlines of broken rock seared in the distance. Although the season began shading into spring, winter injected a weak poison and chased the sun from the sky in the early hours of day. Slanted rays bound Etienne in modest awe. The chestnut specks against her ivory and silver plaited body sparkled like miniscule infernos. Her ocher plates carried no resentment or anger. A distinct affection and infinite love poured from her stare into Xbalanque. As a billowy shard of sable, he drew closer to her in order to more fully sew the moment into an unprecedented masterpiece. He retreated from his dominant, standing position to lie close to her. Each of her heaving breaths pressed into his ribcage and against his heart. “Do you hate me?” his smooth, dark tones encroached the silence. Etienne stirred restlessly at his question. “Of course not. I love you.” Her answer firmed all of the liquid sensations glimmering within her eyes. “Do you know why I had to hurt you, kill you?” Xbalanque persisted with listless unconcern. The shattered body continued to struggle, despite the agonizing protest. “I finally understand all that you’ve been trying to teach me, Xba. Do you love me? Is that why you did it?” No desperation tinged her voice, but rather a strong curiosity. For the first time since he attacked her, panic ravaged his mind. He knew the answer, yet he wished he could have remained silent. Lids slid over his necromancing orbs. “Yes, Etienne. I love you.” A loud, choking sound caused him to once again gaze at his dying lover. An uncontained smile spread fully over her pale kissers as her life violently left her. Within two minutes, her once vivacious being transfigured into a cooling carcass. Tears stabbed at Xbalanque as he pulled himself to his feet.

Gnarled branches and trunks surrounded him. To the east, a slender path of broken twigs and trampled grass directed him back into the world of rogues. Before he completely blended into the bluing shadows, a soft whisper called him back. A decently sized mascu bent over the cadaver as sobs racked his body. “Etienne…my love. I told you not to leave me for him. I told you…” A rupturing cynicism blackened his tones. After a while, the intruder composed himself before facing Xbalanque. “You stole my mate so you could kill her? Why?” The Mexican wolf shuddered from shock. Pastel green optics twisted into the dark assassin. “Because,” Xba started once again with his soft, lackadaisical voice. “You were afraid to lose her. Now you’ll never have to be afraid ever again.” His sentence dissolved as Xbalanque disappeared into the forest.

Several seasons retreated since he last dwelled on the memory of Etienne. Instead of obsessing over the murder like a sociopath, or over her death like a wounded lover, he boxed it tight within the farthest recesses of his mind. Every now and then her face floated to the shallow surface before sinking again. Xbalanque had lived several lives since then, abandoning them all with no sense of allegiance chaining him. He mostly stalked the lives of small packs. His greedy thoughts deigned to dismember them all, but not enough time existed to sate this lust. Instead he picked upon the most intellectual and thriving of them. His charisma and startling reason turned brother against brother, children against parent, and pupil against teacher. If Xba felt that too much importance was staked upon the Alpha, then his mission circled around his or her death. Chaos swelled in his wake. The irony of it all was very few managed to even scrape his name from him. But his picture framed in titanium inside their souls. Because of his increasing notoriety, the renegade needed to travel farther and wider to escape reprisal. He consisted of a great ability to adapt to eclectic climates. Thus, no scenery he entered seemed foreign or strange, considering he had seen many variations of the same. When natural decorations became far more prosperous and menacing, Xbalanque knew he treaded close to a watery home. Acidic yellow and green governed the new territory, only allowing subtle hues of brown and blue to disrupt the olive haven.

Certain weariness echoed hollowly within his bones. Constant migrating began to plaque his energy levels. He wondered vaguely the title of the terrain he recently entered. However, the question deemed unimportant and faded out. It was replaced with who might cross his path. An unwanted routine settled in his traveling, a habit given to most creatures as a homeostasis prospect. But a deep craving for severing blatant predictability rose discreetly in his chest. A smirk twitched on the corners of his boorish jaws. The idea of harvesting disorder often reminded him of his earlier companion, Amadi. Xbalanque paused briefly in his meandering to reflect the horrific grin and bitter jade eyes of the warrior. A quick chuckle started and collapsed in his chest before the beau continued exploring the warped scenery of Palude Persa. Moisture soaked in the soft earth and created a warm pool beneath the long, bladed grass. Uneasiness recaptured Xbalanque’s attention as he waded out of the murky depths onto the higher levels of tree roots and grass. Before long, the sinewy structure of an alligator swam past. Hair prickled upright at the idea of vulnerability within the swamp, but a ghastly intrigue coaxed him forward. Soon enough the swamp opened up completely, displaying an algae infested surface. Whatever pixel of water left untouched reflected bits of the bowing trees and hovering leaves. Bubbles emerged every now and then to reveal existence in the treacherous swamp. On the other side of embankment, a half-eaten cadaver of some kind of organism stretched partially into the diseased lake. Leeches swarmed and infiltrated the carnage, gleaming in the filtered sunlight. Perturbed by these visions, the ebon-cloaked wolf leapt from wood vine to wood vine. Once the soil looked dryer and considerably safer Xbalanque once again touched base. The swamp would only be a prospect of staking residence if enough vermin thrived on its outskirts. Otherwise, Xbalanque would have to ignore the protest of fatigue and settle down somewhere else.

[Sighani]

Amadi...
The Jackal

He sang a song that ruptured what was defined as reality and opened up a chorus of evolution, of ever-striving revolution, filling the void with sweet, sacred dissonance and relighting stagnant embers with the whirlwind flames of chaos. Tides weaving infinite paradigms of bygone ages suddenly stirred by hands that breed splits and schisms, pluck the tender hearstrings of the chosen and the blessed, scrawl false prophecies in the blood of the innocent and the damned alike. At his very core, Amadi was a man of faith, and his faith dictated that gods and devils had exhausted their armies and withdrew their ragged forces long before the creation of mortals. Heaven and hell did not wrestle for the fate of the earth and they never had, but in leading the blind masses to believe they had, they had introduced a new dichotomy far more sinister than good and evil: order and chaos. Purity and damnation had been so simplistically black and white that even a child fresh from the den can follow the straight-shooting arrow of society's moral compass. Order and chaos, however, dealt only with shades of hazy gray.

Devils thrived only in darkness and gods hated gray. But even if they'd wanted to, they could not have rid the world of its now ever-present fog. And so his gods, incompetent and insignificant at long last, had died, but they had not disappeared completely. He wandered forever through an endless field of crumbling tombstones and crooked wooden crosses, the place where he buried the corpses of former lovers and midnight confidantes, dodging red-eyed gazes of fallen idols and ramshackle deities, all ablaze with dejected glares and fierce denials, always tugging at his soul with their twisted claws, begging him to stop for a moment and heed a commandment or two. But he never did. He saw the faces of those dead gods in every night's cruel dream, but he was deaf to the wails and moans of long-gone phantoms. Haunted, but never tormented. Paranoid, but never delusional.

No longer the scourge of heaven nor the bane of hell, Amadi had escaped the trappings of his spirituality on the fire-fledged wings of a phoenix and dove straight into the world he'd scarcely seen without its mask of bone-white mountains and sunfires hot as sin. Stumbling blindly from his blighted homelands, he had renounced his religion in favor of a green-eyed mistress who wove scarlet fingers through his fur and whispered against his ear with a tongue forked by the repelling forces of light and darkness. She was a simple harlot who asked for little in return for abuse of her full and true powers. She even kissed his Jackal's smile and blessed his roving paws. And for what? Nothing more than the spread of her fiery disease. She was not a mere goddess procured by the minds of crooked kings and corrupt clergy, she was a titan with a crown of ash and starfire, and each chaste brush of her lips carried the curse of plague. She called herself chaos and she had her silken noose fastened tight about Amadi's willing throat. She was nothing without his services, and without her, he was just another vengeful brother lost amidst a sea of cracked reflections. They needed one another as surely as the moon needed a dark and cloudless sky to let those on earth know she even existed at all.

But as of late, Amadi had found himself a bit too preoccupied to satisfy his whore. He'd found another, a man this time, an agent of flesh and blood who made mistresses of spectral phantom fibers seem like little more than passing boyhood whimsy. It was easy enough to fall for a woman whom he could never touch, but it was hard to remain faithful when he spent long and sleepless nights curled up alongside something warm and tangible and so easily taken. When life had at last begun to sink into dull, day-to-day routine, discord had reared its sacred head and introduced a strange new element to his life. In finding Xbalanque, Amadi had simultaneously found both his condemnation and his salvation. But instead of feeling scorned and jilted, his lady chaos had merely arched her rigid spine and purred like a contented feline. She had realized even before Amadi himself that few things in life were so random and haphazzard as dually-harbored delusions of lust and romance. And while it did little to rend the earth and topple towers of grandeur, it had nevertheless sent Amadi's mind whirling into a frenzied maelstrom from which he had yet to escape.

Logical or not, it was the only reason The Jackal could find to explain why he now stood chest-deep in water so rank and vile it might have been the bile shat out by the earth's own demons. Amadi's phosphorescent corpselight eyes flashed through the shaded swamp like will o' the wisp orbs, smearing green streaks through the thick atmosphere, searching because he knew there was something to be found. He had been separated from the man with the specter's eyes some time ago, back in the lands of Fantasy, millions of miles and lifetimes ago, it now seemed. Amadi knew his fascination with the warrior was unhealthy and even whimsical, but he had never been one to deny himself the challenge of a good hunt. Xbalanque's trail had indeed been difficult to pick up and Amadi deduced, through careful reasoning and observation so uncharictaristic that he had to wonder if some of the man's analytical detachment had somehow infected him, that Xba knew better than most how to keep himself from being found. But found him, Amadi had. The mystery that remained was whether or not the brujo had so skillfully covered his tracks by force of mindless habit, or if he truly was trying to keep Amadi--or possibly some unspoken other--off his trail.

It was at that moment that Amadi realized how truly fortunate he was to possess such elegant length of limb, for otherwise he had no doubts that he would be drowning in noxious swamp mire. Hailing from an accursed spitfire desert, he'd never seen so much water in one place before, and in any other situation he might have wept out of sheer awe, but fate was not without a sense of irony: embraced on all sides, at long last, by cool water, but each drop poisoned by nature's wicked hand. He could not think of a more suitable punishment for his life ill-spent on vengeance and bloodlust. A desert man, drowned. He couldn't help but crack a smile at the world's merciless joke, but then again, he was always smiling. His old demons had made sure of that.

Slogging his way through the muck, cursing his own inexperience, Amadi eventually found his miserable way into the twisted, putrified heart of the swamp, its blood congealing in black gouts, its breath leaking out in puffs of noxious methane, its secrets buried deep beneath tangled tree roots, slithering vines, and rippling sludge. Shock registered visibly on his scarred features when he was at last able to discern a living scent from the swamp's assault of death and rot, and his heart skipped a beat when he realized it was exactly the scent he'd been searching for. Xbalanque was near. And no sooner had the thought penetrated the smog smothering his mind when the brute himself seemed to materialize out of the verdant gloom, a massive hulk of a wolf successfully navigating the higher ground, slung with marshy tendrils and painted in the same decaying shades of brown as Amadi himself. Torn lips split to brush his eyes in a ghastly, fanged grin visible even beneath the mud splashed all across his face.

"My, my, my," Amadi began through a lilting chuckle, glee boiling over and sending shuddering waves of imminent laughter through his travel-worn frame, "misery just loves company, doesn't it? At least that's what they all say. But we never really paid much attention to them anyway, did we, Xba? Oh, no, not us. Call it ignorance, genius, whatever, but no matter the name, I'm still stuck down here in the mud and you're still up there, without me. Frightfully damn difficult to find the highground from way down here--once you fall into this muck it doesn't like to let you go without a fight--and let me tell you, these leeches, they're murder, but why not lend a paw to an old friend, just for old time's sake? Just between the two of us, you always were the rock, the pillar, the man, able to overcome all life's obstacles with a little application of muscle here and there. You only kept me around so long because you like a boy with a pretty smile." The Jackal advanced several paces, but when he attempted to haul himself to solid ground, his paws would not find purchase and he succeeded only in sinking further into the swamp. Panting and shivering though he was from the day's exhertion, he could no longer restrain the bubbling laughter and for just a heartbeat, it seemed to be the only sound in the entire swamp, and Amadi and Xbalanque seemed to be the only souls around to hear it at all.

Why do we dream when our thoughts mean nothing?

[Taboo]

Lucid dreams often torment the beholder, for it inhibits the ability to discern reality from fantasized delusion. This last month proved challenging for Xbalanque, for him to realize when he slept and when he awoke. Instead of spending excessive energy on extracting the two overgrown weeds of both worlds, he pretended that everything was a dream. It simply amused him as he went along with complete laissez faire aptitude. While he considered it as a delicious, private joke, others thought him completely insane. Even when he once perched on the brink of death through starvation, his search for food never developed into hurried desperation. Instead, Xba merely harassed them until he stumbled upon some poor, crippled victim that couldn’t possibly escape him. Although previously he already passed as a fairly liberal creature, he no longer played the rules and instincts of survival. He convinced himself as immortal, and that no matter how close death crept up, he could always manage to elude the grim fate. The fact that he prospered greater than the common kerl only fed this theory. Truthfully, he adopted this state of mind due to recurring anxiety. His fear of aging antagonized him greatly. Sometimes the wolf spiraled into panic attacks. To protect himself against mental deterioration, he lapsed into psychosis.

So, after rambling a great deal about Xbalanque’s strange and unnatural pathology, here he roosted on the large, entangled roots of a cypress tree. His blank eyes fluttered open then closed several times as he absorbed the exotic terrain. The hessian hadn’t spent much time in swamps, but a blight of intrigue scarred his unwilling memory. This was the first opportunity he took in sitting to diagnose this type of setting. The trees first caught his straying notice. They differed greatly from the typical growth in forests. Structure of the leaves grew larger in size to shade young tendrils from the scorching sun. Roots and branches outstretched in uncouth positions, able to flourish in synapses with other competing trees. Everything living outmatched the size of the mountains or valleys. The damp moisture allowed explosive expansion because the stature of the trees received enough nutrition to control temperature, while the others lacked potential and suffered the disorganized attacks of too wintry and summery days. Satisfied with his observations, Xbalanque queried the filthy lake spills over vicious and aggressive hosts.

His thoughts circulated over the hidden dangers lurking underneath. He wondered what undiscovered animals burrowed beneath such a perfect shield against foreign harm. Perhaps there was some new, unimagined force breeding in there that no other living soul outside the swamp knew. What if he, Xbalanque, dove in and tested the depths? If he angled and prepped his body properly, he could escape the alligators or whatever else swam underneath. But instead of blueprinting this crazy idea, he only gazed hypnotically at the smiling reflection of the obscured sky. Xba felt a powerful aura radiating from the water. As he stood peering lifelessly into the swamp’s center, his status began to shift. Ice coated his heart. Unlike how most wolves are affected by an icy manner, his served as a far more generous reach towards others. When his passionate heart begins to beat, then his ennui paves into a frenzied tornado. His ambition re-awakens. Everyone must become untouchable and impossibly stunning. Otherwise they stumble into the fates of the predecessors. They are ordinary, boring, and weak. Only a few remember them, then they too die. And the idea of so many mortals trading their existence for something so poor infuriated him. The black titan first believed that eventually most or at least half would succeed on their own. Perhaps with a push they would shake off their ignorance and move on to something greater. It didn’t take much time before Xbalanque grasped how false that belief was.

The world needed him. Inasmuch as it didn’t acknowledge this need, it still existed. The fact that it refused to refer to a conqueror failed to shock him. Hardly anyone ever announced they needed more than a companion. They needed more than an Alpha. They needed an absolver. One who eagerly and without thanks attached strings to their joints, and to the nerves of their brain. One who also knew what they needed to accomplish to feel relief and unvoiced gratitude. One intellectual enough to trick them into doing exactly what he planned all along.

Though Xbalanque indeed proved himself to be a rare specimen, even his way of thinking pronged from his upbringing. His orbs opened wide as the maddening hues swirled into a flashback. The graying and outlandish size of his master trotted a few feet ahead of his pupil. Xba the whelp’s mood soured as they spent most of the day discussing edible berries and plants if meat demonstrated as unavailable and your muscles delved into dystrophy. Lately he thought as their lessons digressed to random and almost unusable facts that his teacher was now senile. Ever since the youngling learned the latent abilities of savagery, tooth, and nail, he plotted that when his master became worthless, he would dispose of him. His master taught him how to live, to think, to prioritize and so he gained access to Xbalanque. No one ever accessed him, and since he had, he must surely die. Before he could amble farther on the subject, the elder’s sudden stationary transpose shut up his scheming. Before them a small group of baby rabbits had emerged from their safe den to mill about. About half of their brothers and sisters lay emaciated and dead in the soil. The other alive ones merely hopped stupidly and with no direction. Somehow, Xbalanque knew immediately what would be asked and how he should answer.

“Why do they fail?” the raspy, cutting voice of his teacher ensued. “Because they don’t know what they want.” “And what do they want, Xbalanque?” “A puppetmaster.” The incredulous and almost frightened look that crossed over the elder’s features startled the pubescent wolf. Perhaps it wasn’t the right answer after all…

The ice circulating over his heart started melting. Some unfathomed truth in the watery utopia heated Xba’s frozen soul. A power hungry phoenix clawed out of the ashes and spread fiery wings. His viewpoint of the world changed dramatically. Though the swamp still purchased an ideal beauty, everything around it hung abjectly and lifelessly around him. In the distance, he heard miserable souls screaming for release. It was because of his aroused emotion that he missed Amadi’s loud splashing through the muck. Only until recorders quickly swiveled to snatch the shortened version of his name did he turn towards his old acquaintance. Amadi’s arrival and greeting elicited terrible misfortune. Once Xbalanque released his furious persona, it wasn’t quelled until somebody suffered through their worst nightmares. His head craned slowly to his right, a most terrible grin smoldering on chapped brims. Those colorless eyes churned with insidious embezzlement. Yet when they drilled into that equally malicious stare, Xbalanque couldn’t locate the overgrown seeds of fear that most harvested. There were some seeds, but they were ill-fed and deeply rooted in the ground. Whatever fear Amadi once bred, it had already been destroyed. The remnants of these placed far out of Xbalanque’s reach. Amadi morphed into a terrible beauty. Xba staggered slightly, stunned that somebody finished the process without him. In his entire life, Xbalanque had never found anyone who achieved this. Something deeper than just respect burrowed into his memory and permanently ingrained itself. He knew that even he never saw Amadi again; he would still remember him on his deathbed.

By the time Xbalanque actually internalized his co-conspirator’s words, he had sunk shoulder deep into hungry clay. Once he pulled Amadi from certain death, he knew there were some questions he’d have to answer. “I don’t think a paw would be much help at this point,” he responded blatantly. Instead he buried six-inch claws deep into the spongy material of the tree before stretching neck far enough until his teeth clamped onto the toughened back of Amadi’s neck. Lowering his hind legs, Xbalanque hauled the entrenched lupe with all his might. His muscles bulged and strained as a fiery pain burst through his flanks. After several minutes of heaving, Amadi’s chest and front legs emerged so they could latch onto secured ground. He nearly faltered and let go when three leeches that attached to Amadi squirmed over to him and dug their painful fangs into soft flesh. He bit harder into the brute, almost ripping open the skin, so as to ignore the buggers.


::word count: 1,432
::currently listening to: opheliac
::mood: accomplished

[Sighani]

[bg=Black][atrb=width,98%,true][atrb=border,0,true] W h y . d o . w e . d r e a m . w h e n . o u r . t h o u g h t s . m e a n . n o t h i n g ? He always dreamt of the dead. Slender, slick bodies thrown down on the tainted ivory of the sacrificial slab; beautiful eyes glazed with eternal fear and damnation, condemned to see forever, never to close in tranquil slumber; the graceful curves of porcelain throats shattered by crushing blows and torn to rags by the fangs of a demon so foul that hell itself had cast him out from its sulfurous depths and left him to torment the souls yearning to break free from a scorched and godless kingdom. Amadi always dreamt of these Sisters of the Slaughter and how he had been unable to save them from the monster that slithered like smoke into the hearts and minds of the Bwaddene, a noxious plague, ravaging and terminal. Amadi had witnessed the carnage, seen the sanguin entrails hanging like glittering serpents from the skeletal fingers of the trees in the garden, heard the cries of the high priest as he beseached a beast-god who had fallen like a comet from his celestial throne so long ago that no one could remember his name. The priest had hoped to entice that fallen titan into the forgotten realm of the Bwaddene, the sweet blood of countless virgins smeared across the gates of the abyss, but his prayers were all in vain. No one ever came. The Bwaddene were, and always would be, cursed. But undone by blood, Amadi had broken free. The priest's heart had glistened like a new fish caught against the sun-fired stone, the gnarled root to his soul wriggling and dying in a puddle of crimson life. He hadn't wanted the priest's heart--it had only been a means to an end. What he truly desired was the key he knew would be buried deep inside the soul of that loathsome monster. With a smile freshly scabbed, he had marked the heaving chest with a scarlet x and plunged in headlong for a treasure far more precious than gold. It had been his first act of vengeance. It had tasted just like chaos. His sly jackal's smile curled up to flirt with the venom of his eyes, crawling across his face on jagged spider legs, pulling at the corners of his mouth with blood-stained pincers, wicked and splintered. When at last it sunk its hooks into the familiar anchors of his eyes, it caught fire, a ragged inferno slashed across a scarred and world-battered visage, burning so savagely that it split into a crevice of bone-white fangs. And when at last the old, familiar laugh trickled like bile and poison and everything vile from the back of his throat, the end of the world dripped from his ever-smiling lips, apocalyptic, cataclysmic, armageddon threading through every chilling lilt and beading the emerald air with the sweet taint of asphyxiation. Behind every exquisite creation in all of existence, there was tragedy. Worlds had to burn in travesty that the fairest lily might blossom. Such a laugh could only spring forth from the ashes of calamity--the riotous clash of chaos and control. Jackal and Puppetmaster united once more. Amadi longed to hear that forked serpent's tongue whispering prophecies of war against his ear once again, breaking mayhem from the maws of kings and gods alike, breath coming out in tides of terror and soothing his shattering mind with promises of retribution. Twilight in the swamp cast a sort of dilapidated spell upon its lonely, lurking creatures, stealing them all away into a thick, verdigris gloom with a forsaken charm. Amadi hardly registered the pull of ivory daggers at the scruff of his neck, scar tissue toughening his hide into something leathery and unfeeling. After a moment's struggle, the mire released him from its suffocating embrace, but not before marking him as its own: leeches wormed through a matted and stinking pelt and thorned creepers sliced deep and branded his flesh with bloodred gashes screaming for the sting of infection. Lean muscles burned with the strain of exhertion, but the grin remained plastered across his mug even as he gulped down breaths of pungent air mingling with the perfume of Xbalanque's own musk. The milk of paradise. "I won't be taking anymore shortcuts through the swamp water, believe me. That's a mistake I'll only make once," the poison-eyed brujo chuckled softly, thin shoulders rolling beneath his shawl of flame-spun fur. Blunt talons scratched for a moment at a particularly bothersome leech behind his ear, scraping the parasite from his skin, but he was quick to regain his careless, sharp-angled stance. He regarded Xbalanque for a while, delving deep into the nacreous orbs he had only remembered as a fleeting dream, foggy, haunting, and blurred around the edges. He thought for an instant that maybe those spectral eyes weren't quite as empty as they were when the two brutes had first met, but the thought was banished almost as quickly as it had come. He could not hope to fill that void. He sighed softly, tail slashing like a blade, cutting through the tension. "My mind rebels at stagnation, Xbalanque. I need to move. Come on, walk with me, tell me what I've missed. Besides the obvious, of course." Ever the tease, Amadi offered a playful wink to the shadow-pelted hessian and chuckled before setting his nose toward the tangled cypress grove and padding off into the wretched darkness, phospherescent foxfire cutting a jeweled path through the oppressive haze. If he walked, he had discovered years ago, he did not have to think, and that was just the way he liked it; when he thought, his mind stalked down black corridors and into crumbling realms, disease-ridden places he could not control, places that left him blind to reality. Exhaustion was the best thing. When he was exhausted, wandering the earth as a long-legged vagrant, his thoughts did not stray to glazed eyes or blood-choked screams or too-white rock; no strange dreams infected his waking mind, no things that were not and could not be. Everything in the swamp was serpentine: the writhing roots beneath his mitts, the vines that hung from the boughs of gray and twisted trees, the winding trails, the hiss of gases and stagnant winds whispering along the murky surface of the water. He couldn't help but wonder what had attracted Xbalanque to this rank place. But perhaps he hadn't been attracted at all; perhaps he had been snared. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- words xx 1065. tunes xx "Promise" - Eve 6 notes xx Ugh, this is total crap. So sorry for the wait.

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[Taboo]

Ethereal chambers performed its daily routine and exhaled revolution over the eastern landscape. In between the broken blades of wooden limbs and green sheaves, the luminescent flames of light dimmed into stale neutral tones bleeding with common blue blood. A netherworld shower of silver cracked through the falling dusk. It took the place of sunlight. But, instead of highlighting the brazen emerald of the noxious swamp, it diminished bold colors into something shriveled and barely alive. Something related to disgust injected into Xbalanque. Thickened globs of mud eroded his coat of dark matter and plastered the spongy grid of root underneath his prying talons. Though he typically did not mind donning layers of wetted earth, Palude Persa incorporated lethal mysteries and ingredients to the concoction…and Xbalanque did not want to wreak any misfortune by allowing the mire to seep into his pores.

Claws raked repeatedly through his soiled fur. Pointed tips pierced through the wriggling vampires attached to his nape and crown, creating a sort of gruesome kabob. After spending a decent and most likely necessary amount of time cleaning himself, Xbalanque peeled off the leeches and threw them back into their murky sanctuary. He spoke aloud preying thoughts, half destined for his own use and for Amadi’s. “Disgusting creatures. To live a life of feeding off of others for survival. That is what happens to the weak. They die and are reborn as leeches, tics, and weeds.” Tones sizzled like cold water dripping onto hungry, hot surfaces. It was the first time in months that Xba displayed any kind of disturbance in his impossibly placid exterior.

Now that agitation breached his countenance, it sought fuel to keep thriving. The ragged shards of moonlight framed those fluorescent orbs as they skirted to the velveteen skies. Sinewy tendons along his lower jaw propped out in exclamation of his irritation. “Why are so many fascinated by the moon plate? She is only a mimic…a poor replication of the sun. The moon does not breed life, and does not supply vitamins and nutrition to growing bodies.” Xbalanque’s matte tangle of mane remained motionless as he swept his maw in disapproval. Within moments of his random comments, the weak flare of emotion died out and the android peered up at his entrenched companion. A sudden sentence danced on the curves of his tongue and nerves of his throat. I missed you. Somehow it never found formation.

He chuckled at Amadi’s misadventure. The hellion mostly wanted to distract himself from those jaded almonds grazing his colorless ones. “Of course, Amadi,” he stated simply as his stationary body jarred into a reduced gait. “After all, motion does provide such a perfect distraction, doesn’t it?” His offhand remark barbed into the blackened desert-cloaked wolf’s flippancy. Within their several encounters, Xba duly noted that Amadi often engaged in some sort of subconscious action and fidgeting. Even when he stilled his shapely torso and slender legs, that furred vine of his continued to slither. Often the sight brought to mind a wound up feline.

At first, the ebon predator allowed the question to dangle unanswered as both of them prowled along the tree bases until ground [as soft and churned as it was] finally issued a small touch of safety. Eyes often strayed to the traveling form beside him, secretly snatching memories. The first memories he had since Etienne. And after a moment of each sinful glance, they would fixate onto the winding and unforgiving path ahead of them. Was he nurturing vice by merely looking at Amadi? Yes. Xbalanque was no longer attempting pick apart knots to instigate a change. He did it for personal reasons. For once, Xba was curious.

“I hope you don’t think I abandoned you back in Fantasy.” The silence between them grew to the point where the lupe’s syllables created a startling affect in the darkness. “Something felt awry. And only a month ago did I gather whispers that it is now an ash graveyard.” The uneven terrain caused tremors to undulate within smooth muscles. His unconscious grace illuminated a hidden power not only in body, but in the unrecovered psyche. “Much time passed before finding any significant family of wolves. Fantasy had accumulated all of them within a hundred mile radius. I sheltered into a smaller and rather disorganized pack. They had a strong leader, though, that made such intelligent decisions I marveled at how they hadn’t prospered further. Dahlia, that was her name. Seeing in that position riled me. It was a poor reward for such a remarkable soul, throwing them to ungrateful hyenas that barely listened. So I created mutiny and had them dispatch her out of those lands. Once they were left leaderless, they appointed me as their King. And without further ado, I left in obscurity. I would not doubt that Dahlia has found a better living for herself.” A transparent grin peeled along thickened rims and hinted at murderous weapons clothed behind them.

The two snaked along the rotting trail until the mutated decorations of Palude Persa began to thin. Wind gusted along more fiercely now and fed Xbalanque’s burning throat. The initial fear from entering such an enigmatic place simmered into the embers of caution. Golden gems for stars embedded along the infinitesimal heaven. Clouds roiled in the distance and grumbled angrily. Nature seemed to have staked a rather bitter attitude as of late. Aching limbs sighed in relief as Xbalanque embraced the hardened earth. His voluminous plume winded along his side as he stared up expectantly at Amadi to join him. A random question thieved along peripheral thoughts as the phantasmal devil placated his tired figure. “What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?” Even as the words spilled unexpectedly from open jaws, his optics blinked rapidly in surprise. Ears pressed and folded along his skull in unspoken apology as he turned his face away to find something else to admire.

Demons clung to his sides and declared joyful declarations of treachery. He was so young, was he not allowed to make errors? You murdered your master out of fear, not out of necessity. You broke the law you create for others. How can you consider yourself a true teacher and guide? His life outside his only known element and home instilled instability within Xbalanque. For months he nursed his guilt and anger by lashing at random innocents and destroyed their lives. He immersed himself in a lake of fire and brimstone to forget why he drank in the first place. Misery blanketed him in travestied wonder. It was at the end of his sanity did he decide he would no longer be human nor indulge in his instincts. He would purposely place himself as the antagonist, as the enemy. For people are only willing to change if they are able to victimize themselves first. And to be a victim, you need a perpetrator.

Word count// 1,148
Song// This Hollow World: Johnny Hollow

[Sighani]

[bg=Black][atrb=width,98%,true][atrb=border,0,true] W h y . d o . w e . d r e a m . w h e n . o u r . t h o u g h t s . m e a n . n o t h i n g ? Amadi knew of vultures, those harbingers of decay that soared low on ragged, black wings upon scorched, scarlet breezes rank with the smells of blood and gore. Forever cloaked in the shadow of death, despair and merciless need trailing in their wakes like glistening ebony feathers, flecking lost souls with downy bits of dark grief. Amadi knew them well, and each time he cast an acid-boiled glance at Xbalanque, his mind echoed with the sounds of gluttonous caws and furious wingbeats. Xbalanque thrived on death--indeed, nothing quite brought the gleam of something like life to his corpse's eyes--and he scavenged on the lost lives of his fellow varg, binging on emotions he lacked the conscience to feel himself, gorging himself on their fear. The Jackal's ghastly smile thinned into a tight-lipped smirk, orbs narrowing to blazing slits of festering disease. A hollow chuckle clawed its way up his throat, but he snared the wretched thing with clenched fangs before it escaped into the air, and it instead took a different path, oozing from his eyes as they crinkled in private glee, seeping from his pores and skittering across his gaunt frame in violent shivers, teasing his plume into a mirthful dance. He was never very good at concealing his emotions; they were the last claim to humanity he had left. When at last his bones stopped shaking from the force of his suppressed laughter, he swung his crooked muzzle in Xbalanque's direction, keen auds flicking forward in intrigue, greedily drinking in every soft sound the other brute made: the slosh of heavy paws through the mire, the rasp of fur against fur, the sweet, harmonic sounds of respiration that now seemed so companionable. His smirk melted into something almost tender, if not for the wretched hooks that twisted it greusomely at the ends. He smiled for the familiarity, and for the futility of Xbalanque's endeavors. For all his aspirations of complete control, he was still just a puppet to the mechanisms of his own mortality. His breath came just as naturally as any wolf's; his blood flowed just as red as any serpent's. As they walked together through the laberynthine tangles of the swamp, Amadi sighed, a gray sound born of both pure contentment and tainted longing. If only Xbalanque could hang his vulture's wings up for the night and fall, delicate and dark as winter sin, into a smothering oblivion. A stranger, trembling with feeling, like a sacred verse that Amadi could carry. He always yearned for the impossible, but Xbalanque was his damage, a bleeding gash that would not heal no matter how he tried to slather it with a salve of cool reality. A vulture always picking at the rotten sinews of his heart. The pain was exquisite; indeed, emotional torment was the only thing that seemed to hurt anymore. Words unspoken soured the air between the two wolves for a moment, but Amadi's grin was swift to return when Xbalanque acknowledged his need for movement. Idle paws are tools in the devil's workshop. He'd seen enough hell in his life to invite it back. "Distraction?" he echoed, smile half-slung but fascinated. Was he so easily read, or did Xbalanque know his methods better than Amadi had assumed? "No, no, no, not a distraction. It's just that there is absolutely nothing of interest to me, up there, in my memory, at all. I've been through it all so many times before, it's a complete waste of my energy to relive it again. Give me problems, give me work, give me the most abstruse cryptogram, or the most intricate analysis, and I am in my own . . . proper element." He giggled lightly, a lilting titter that bled into his body and spurred his paws into a playful waltz. Emerald eyes found the spectral lumiscence of Xbalanque's gaze once again and he stopped abruptly, frozen in place, his shallow breathing the only hint of life. Slowly, dark lashes swept down over his orbs, veiling venomous pools as a darker, but intensely bemused, voice rumbled in the deepest caverns of his chest. "I abhor the dull routine of existence. I'm starved for mental exaltation. That's part of the reason why I've chosen to serve anarchy and chaos, or rather create it, because I am the only one who would dare." If Amadi was possessed of any glaring moral failings, it was pride that reared its ugly maw above all others. So many years alone had taught him he could count on no one else but himself in order to survive. And not only to survive, but to prosper. He owed nothing to his peers, besides a certain sense of thankfulness that they had been the ones who had cursed him with his wretched countenence in the first place. They had saught to turn him into a monster, but in the end, he had not fallen into damnation by their bloody devices, but rather by his own. He did not doubt the authenticity of his own words. He had seen so many cowards in his lifetime that it was frightfully difficult for him to harbor any faith that someone besides himself could face the whips and lashes of societal condemnation and break free from the black chains of conformity. He carried on through the cypress forest at an easy gait, reveling in the brief silence, but Xbalanque's next words brought him to an abrupt halt. I hope you don't think I abandoned you in Fantasy. He blinked, at a loss for words, jaw slack. It was as close to an admission of true affection Amadi could hope for from the hellion. He shivered, an icy finger of some foreign emotion tracing down his spine. Xbalanque, however, did not waste further breath on the sentiment, and instead dove into a report of a land they could hardly have called a home. Regaining his senses, Amadi's mitts broke into a slinking prowl once again, bringing him up alongside the shoulder of his midnight-shawled companion. Shrill laughter crashed through his crumbling fortitude at last, taking him utterly, and by surprise. Birds exploded in a flurry of sceams and feathers at his sudden outburst, breaking the illusion of their solitude. "I wish I could have seen it burn," the Jackal managed through sadistic pleasure, shaking his head in something like awe at the mere prospect of such a mighty empire falling into absolute ruin, ravaged by unfeeling hellfire. The imaginings left his dizzy and breathless and he hardly registered Xbalanque's words, recognizing only that the assassin had taken control of yet another collapsing civilization and left it in the slavering jaws of total annihilation. He rose up from the murky waters of his mania when at last a fresh breeze graced his senses, slamming him back into reality. They had come to a clearing, starfire blazing brilliantly through a haze of noxious swamp fumes, withered trees slung like casualties of war across the earth, bloodless and limp. He stood, finally placated, at Xbalanque's side, an emaciated reflection of the grizzled brute, legs long and spindly like shadows at twilight, nighttime's black ink spilling across his desert-woven pelt and dousing the fire in his mane. Xbalanque's question came as a shock to both men, it seemed, and Amadi hesitated to speak when roving eyes caught the apologetic expression that flooded across the dark visage. Xbalanque lived in the past while Amadi strived ever toward the future. This was, perhaps, not the most suitable topic of conversation, but Amadi suddenly found himself unwilling to deny the warrior anything he'd asked. His answer required no real thought, for it lurked always through the forefront of his thoughts, haunting him forever and always. "Failing to act as true evil ravaged all I'd ever loved," he whispered delicately, wishing he could speak the words without that perverse smile slashed across his face. He doubted it was the answer Xbalanque had been expecting, but Amadi had always made a point to be unpredictable. He felt hollow at the confession, mercifully empty inside. Despair did not become a soul so free. "I told myself I'd never do it again. Inaction. And now you know why I never sit still. Can you say you're surprised?" The Jackal grinned. As if he could do anything else. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- words xx 1381. tunes xx "Save Tonight" - Eagle Eye Cherry notes xx Yay for my muse returning!

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[Taboo]

A soft, velvet kiss...so gentle and bestowing it almost completely seduced the mind to ignore the ravenous bite following the mocked, loving gesture. Fur ruffled as indignant feathers. His pride ached for being allured to such mischief, to such approaching danger, and let himself be wrapped around so willingly. Nature's beauty often bruised his titanium interior. If gods existed, they truly knew what tools to wield against him to dissect him with no protests assailing their deaf ears. The noxious swamp of Palude Persa stole his prior consciousness and concern, but now that both he and the Jackal trekked along solid earth, his cranium erected to the heavens towards the southwest. Although just moments ago he noted the storm beginning to unleash a terribly bitter rage upon one of the packlands he passed to enter here, he believed it to be a quick temper tantrum. Such energy could not possibly continue to feed itself...or else it would have been obviously foretold in the atmosphere.

Auds twitched and flickered, ringing with Amadi's poisoned, honeysuckle voice. Xbalanque refined the talent of multi-tasking, both being able to absorb his sentences while trying to decipher the direction the storm maliciously deliberated on inflicting. Lightning lacerated openings in the gray-violet blanket and purged its hatred by striking the ground below. After spending a good five minutes of intense studying, Xbalanque caught it moving straight east. There was not too much danger, the storm would only clip the region, but they would need to seek some shelter within the hour.

Hollow eyes veered over to Amadi as he remarked upon Fantasy's fate. Was it the fact that it was fire, or the fact that death exercised its randomized skill? Except that it wasn't truly random. "So many are always bitter when their home forest burns. They always forget in those times that every forest sparks its own flame of death, so that it can regrow in the rich ash." A somber expression hung heavily on his sleek visage as he paused momentarily in his footing. "We...I mean, mortals...animals, humans, we do not truly belong here. We had to have come much later than the birth of the planet. Everything else that has no muscle or brain develops so slowly. They are meant to live nearly ageless lives. At the most, mortals are given a century to live." A fathomless jealousy ignited with the morbidity of his gaze as he turned away. Even though he did not add to the silence, an obvious question of 'why was it that we are the ones cheated?' dangled between them.

He felt restless and unsettled. Xbalanque gave a peripheral glance to Amadi in nervousness. Was he revealing himself too much? Did the clever assassin pick at his skin...was he trying to see his secrets? A hasty shudder peeled through him before he composed himself. He endeared his privacy too greatly. So what if his companion discovered a little more of him than anyone else. It was not as if Amadi could kill him with knowledge. Or even if he could, it wasn't death he feared.

As Amadi revealed his own terror, Xbalanque shoved all of his clawing worries to listen. Head cocked over to the side at an angle involuntarily. He heard that answer only once before...perhaps not exactly, but very similar. The demon knew at that moment he wouldn't possibly allow Amadi to leave his company unless it was his true desire to. Barbs weaved through his flesh and metal wall spawning from Amadi's soul...or whatever replaced it. For the second time in his life, he was captivated and intrigued. "Actually, I'm very surprised." But for a somewhat different reason than it was just unexpected. Glistening pools latched onto his own, complemented by his mirthless, grinning scars. A prompting too tangible to ignore beat against his heart as Xbalanque cleared his throat shyly. Perhaps Amadi had not asked the question in return, but no one enjoyed being the only vulnerable one. "I fear my body. I fear aging and getting old. Not because it foreshadows the end of my mortality, but because I already hate being so limited. Not being able to fully accomplish everything I see in my head. But at least I am given so much ability in my prime. Once I am old, I will be caged and enslaved to my own psyche." Gaze averted as Xbalanque quickly immersed himself within the smells and electric current of the sky's distant onslaught.

Instead of figuring out whether he wanted commentary or not, he merely remarked upon his earlier thoughts. "A storm has unleashed and will leave an impression in this territory. Although it won't be deep, it is best to find some sort of sanctuary. Do you know of any?" Although he directed the question at him, Xbalanque couldn't bring himself to look at Amadi at the moment until his embarrassment passed. Maw upturned to the darkened horizon again, a little astonished at the speed in which the storm traveled. If Amadi didn't know of one, Xbalanque would dig a shelter immediately. Otherwise they might be swept up in an unmerciful torrent.

[Sighani]

[bg=Black][atrb=width,98%,true][atrb=border,0,true] W h y . d o . w e . d r e a m . w h e n . o u r . t h o u g h t s . m e a n . n o t h i n g ? A shiver rippled across Amadi’s flesh as Xbalanque exposed his deepest vulnerability, as though he had unlocked the ivory cage of his ribs and drawn forth his beating, bleeding heart to place it in The Jackal’s hungry grasp. The sweet, violent desire to lash out and crush that proffered tenderness jolted through his consciousness, but he smothered it quickly away. Nonetheless, he didn’t know what to do with this precious thing now that it had been thrust into his possession, so he took it and folded it carefully and hung it up in the back of his mind along with all the other ragged husks of memories too dear to sacrifice to the pit of his soul. He felt he should thank Xbalanque for bearing his most secret self in such a way, unprompted and without hesitation, but he didn’t know how. His capacity for gratitude had broken long, long ago. Pointed auds pressed back against his skull in the nervous silence that ensued, and he wondered if it were within his rights to offer his companion a youth eternal. If he could give Xbalanque nothing else, he could give him that. It would not be the first time he had saved a loved one from the torments of enduring fear, frozen the image of strength and beauty in his mind for all time, never to decay, never to succumb to the rot of old age, never to suffer again under life’s cruel claws. He deemed the sentiment too private to voice, however. But now that the thought had manifested, he could not push it away: If Xbalanque ever asked it of him, he would lay the man to rest before he let him wither away like some precious bloom on a poisoned vine. It would be his honor. Age did not frighten Amadi, for he knew it had never been his fate to pass into seniority–he lived too volatile a life to hope for a long life. But he had no doubts that he could cling to this existence for as long as Xbalanque needed him. With a quiet sigh, he glanced up into those ghastly pools that always so reminded him of ash and smoke and too-white stone, the shades of ghosts. All at once, Xbalanque was an unbearable reminder of his haunted past and a teasing glimpse of his future. Their future? He dared not hope. Hope was a cancerous thing and it would not make him its slave. Tainted breath slipped out to contaminate the thick air as The Jackal let his heavy thoughts spool away, unraveling into the energy flow of the universe, his perceptiveness calming and broadening like a black river. The slick, dark grass rustled with the fetal stirrings of a storm less than an hour away. Rains gathered out of the atmosphere and out of the distant, roaring sea and the furze of the bog water and all the dank, fetid places of the wastes. Rains gathered like tiny thoughts, swirling together with vast intent, gathering force to swarm into Requiem. Dragging its chains of lightning across the scarred hide of the earth, the storm would come and none could stop it. This is the mind of Khaos, he thought, feeling the weather pouring into itself, coiling its might, and an anticipatory shiver licked up the jagged length of his spine. All his dread, all his weakness, all his burdens, slipped away into the accumulating darkness of the brewing storm and he felt free. Crackling ozone skittered across his skin like the fingers of an old lover and he wondered for a fleeting instance if it were any coincidence Xbalanque had led him here, into the festering cradle of a storm.. “Shelter?” Acid-burned eyes blinked for a moment in confusion, then sought the ebon hellion through the deepening gloom, the inquiry lingering between them like a dare. The notion of cowering like some battered whelp before nature unleashed hadn’t even crossed his mind. Why anyone should think to hide from such nightmarish beauty struck him as incredible. Surely this was not Xbalanque’s heart. Or had he spent this whole time painting brilliant pictures onto a blank canvas? No. He would not think that. “This is a swamp,” he growled, voice dipping into unexplored depths, perpetual grin belying the undisguised disdain that dripped form his words. “The only shelter you’ll find is underwater, curled up in the company of the leeches and the toads. Creatures too ugly and shameful to gaze upon the glorious wrath of heaven.” His stare did not slip from Xbalanque even as he spoke with such heated passion, so seldom inspired and even less often heard. In spite of the fervor that gripped his heart, however, he moved towards his companion with lithe apprehension, eyes ever watchful for the subtle signs of betrayal. Xbalanque, in his utter apathy, was always so unpredictable. An image of flashing fangs and a sudden gout of crimson blood shot through his mind and he smirked to himself. The ever-present shroud of death that blackened Xbalanque’s every motion kept Amadi balanced upon the edge of a knife, constantly flirting with his own end. Any slip could potentially be his last. The sheer thrill of that notion was almost enough to undo him. “You’ll find no shelter here with me, Xbalanque,” he said at last, voice trickling forth from gently smiling jaws like a silver stream of smoke, enshrouding the pair with promises unspoken. Questing mitts stopped just short of Xbalanque, and the heady musk that poured from the hessian was dizzying, made all the more pungent by the soft patter of rain that had only just begun to fall. Amadi chuckled despite himself. “And if that’s what you seek... I suggest you search elsewhere.” He stayed close for just a moment, drinking deep the scent of another, reveling in the warmth that encased a soul so cold, and then, with a titter of laughter, bolted away. “I can only lead you into danger,” he called over his shoulder. The rain was falling steadily now, needling down in silver curtains, hissing off the mire of the swamp and muddying the waters. Who could say what threats now lurked in those turbid depths? “But if you come with me now, we can spit in the faces of angels and dance within the storm. We will be like gods.” A fierce cackle split the jaws of the hell-spun wraith and, riding the tide of his own bubbling ecstasy, Amadi rippled away into the darkness like a flame in the night. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- words xx 1107 words. tunes xx "Entrophy" - Informatik. notes xx I tried!

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[Taboo]

Thorns pricked forward, twitching lightly to the increased howling of the encroaching storm. Tombstone gaze watched with incessant apathy towards the monochrome whirlpool funneling with greedy reach towards the earth. Remarkable. Even the most goliath tree bowed to the violent hands of the Deities above. Thoughts threaded along the curve of the storm. Someday, he would have the self-same effect upon all wolves. The eldest and strong of all would tremble upon knee and raise the proud jaw in deference. Fur ruffled like a black inferno. With a contorted grin, he appeared to have risen from the lowest circle of hell. The appearance equaled his mind. He was untouchable - invincible, even. Yes, he laid to bear his fear with Amadi. Xbalanque also once feared the death of his only loved one. With his own bare claws he mutilated her flesh, shattered her bones and allowed her to die agonizingly in front of him. Fears were an impossibility to never share, but to maintain strength so as to overcome each new terror…that required strength. Mind, body and spirit have to wind together in a most formidable bond.

The wolf feared the imprisonment of age. Yet he relentlessly harbored tactics and thoughts to deflect this unsettling fact. With advocates at his decrepit feet, Xbalanque could pass on his experiences and knowledge. Words retained astonishing power, and his life would carry on through the spoken mouth of his followers. He may lack the physical ability to defend those ideas, but the possibility of their nourishment eased his thoughts.

Nares flared at the assaulting scents of fleeing animals near the threshold of the swamp. Instinct roiled inside with the command to pursue them in a state of vulnerability. Folding away the visceral promptings, he shifted and angled for a better view of Palude Persa. Muscles tensed and released as limbs spun around. Receptors flickered over to the murky depths of the swamp. The brute felt ever so aware of a lingering presence underneath the lecherous film. He grew ever curious of the mystery that would forever lurk, untouched by time or mortal. His focus lanced back towards Amadi at the sense of his gaze. A light smirk curved upon his calloused rims. Xba’s spheres emitted a fluorescent glow while latching onto the yellowed, tainted jades of his companion.

Whispered rumors crawled along the spines of packs and scattered gatherings. Once Xbalanque harvested a body, their soul poured into those devil gems. They remained cursed to wander restlessly amidst a white nihility. No darkness would lull them to sleep. Only the blight seared their pleading spirits as they continued to search vainly for escape. Sometimes the mascu entertained these ideas. After all, the weak should never inherit paradise. It was a perfect reward for those who failed to honor their name.

Gaze trailed after the Jackal, deigning once more to feast upon the glory. Turbulent winds now rocked the very ground beneath them as rain circled close and drizzled upon their crowns in warning. Xbalanque was not a believer of Gods. Or at least the concept of worshiping Gods. Wolves forever held rank over any deity, for they had descended from an ethereal home to obtain bodies and experienced true pain. He thoughts Gods selfish and timid for shying away from relinquishing their power to join them. Oh, the wolf would spit in their face if possible. Alas, they eluded him and refused to acknowledge his rightful accusations.

The perplexity tarnishing his mimicry taunted Xbalanque to fixate those phantasmal eyes upon Amadi. He dissected the wolf’s appearance as he waited for him to continue. His entire structure curved in a serpentine figure with bones along his shoulders, chest and spine heavily pronounced. Over time, the sable demon grew found of the fiery streak along burnt ashes of the pelt hue. The Bwaddene wolf stood considerably taller with an elegant profile of muscle and sleek agility. Lightning darted behind him as the eerie flashes illuminated the creature. It was Amadi’s eyes that captivated him most of all. They dripped a hideous shade of green, one that reminded one of disease and decay. It reminded him strongly of the swamp they now waded through.

His speculation on the lack of shelter humored the mascu. He thought briefly of trotting back to the natural basin and immerge his entire figure into it. Allow the vile water to swallow even the very tips of his auds and have him sink. Perhaps he’d meet the only God worthy of his presence underneath it. The idea had him shuddering in ecstasy as flesh prickled deliciously. He wouldn’t mind using the swamp as shelter at all. With his absorbed fantasy, he somehow missed the incandescence rising within Amadi’s tones. “Shameful?” he encroached, his attention piquing towards the male. “In an such a vindictive world where every other living creature struggles to survive, they have perfected homeostasis. Any threat that even dares to cross here is consumed as the tiny inhabitants flourish from it. Should we not then heed their immaculate accomplishment? I believe they are more beautiful than the entirety of wolf kind…” he trailed off with a fantasized sigh. Perhaps Amadi would never agree with the notion of beauty, but he found irony at the matching shade of his irises to that which he called ugly. He believed Amadi to be the most stunning piece of art he’d happened to stumble across.

You’ll find no shelter with me here, Xbalanque.

His retort infused a mirroring display of perplexity. Something vehement and bladed disappointment trailed along the tones of his gilded voice. Auds pressed forward to express his desire to dissemble Amadi’s exact thoughts and what bothered him so. Perhaps he wasn’t the only one to wear the mask of disillusionment. Figure straightened and heeded the Jackal’s approach, eyeing the rippled scars along the fringes of his jaw. Tassle swept to the side as brow crept upward as the night warrior surveyed him. Rancid breath fumed from the hellish jaws as he continued. Rain poured like an ever-draping curtain upon them now. Lips quirked upward at the sentence. “Perhaps I’ve been too concerned with the salvation of wolves, I forgot to continuously reap my own. After all, it isn’t a single rebirth, but a struggle never ending until the heart withdraws and the last breath releases the soul.”

His body coiled in immediate response to Amadi darting away in the distance. He observed him avidly and with the shimmer of respect. It was good of the wolf to remind him why he desired his presence. Having someone who taught you nothing and only spouted flattery and regurgitated thoughts marked regression. With a fanged smile, body coiled and flung him forward towards the darkening turmoil. Eyes flashed wildly as deep laughter suddenly roared from his lung as he joined along with Amadi’s dance with his mistress, chaos.

word count: 1,145 words
notes: I'm pretty happy with this post...so yes

[Sighani]

[bg=Black][atrb=width,98%,true][atrb=border,0,true] W h y . d o . w e . d r e a m . w h e n . o u r . t h o u g h t s . m e a n . n o t h i n g ? Amadi could recall a time, not so very long ago, when the very presence of stormclouds had been a cause for celebration, when a damp breeze had brought whispers of invocation to the staunchest of warriors, when the gentle patter of rain had brought powerful kings to their knees in exaltation. Living there, on that sand-blasted edge of hell, it was difficult to perceive the life-giving blessedness of rain as anything less than a miracle. The cool gentleness of water sliding against parched lips and scorched hides surely had to be proof of some merciful higher power. For those few short weeks of rain, those barren, ash-choked lands would turn all to green and the herds would crawl up out of the wastes to feed and life would flourish. A miracle. That even there, where life had no business–no right–to struggle on, it thrived. Try as he might, Amadi had never quite managed to shake that sacred reverence for what he now knew was a common natural occurrence. When he had first escaped that blighted kingdom of the Bwaddene, wandering like a phantom through foreign what seemed a foreign world, he had found himself inexorably drawn towards a sprawling forest that welcomed a sweet summer rainstorm his first night. He had danced through that sylvan paradise with the joyous exuberance of an innocent soul delivered from the torments of the pit, exulting in the crystalline waters of mercy, drinking deep the mana of life. It had rained again the very next night, and he had wept. Such spectacles of sentimentality were no longer to be found within this battered husk of a man, however. There was a part of him that was now convinced that the rains had not been a divine reprieve, but merely a cruel instrument devised to prolong their suffering, for it was true that shadow could not exist without a light, and the brutal scourge of torment could not be recognized if not softened by the occasional caress of bliss. These were the contrivances of a desecrated mind, and he had encased his spirit in an iron shell forged of many similar thoughts, but in this one instance his heart would not be swayed. Rain was a miracle and he was to always regard it so. Of course, he thought to himself, as he ran drenched in the tears of the falling sky, doused with the glory of broken gods, this was no mere drizzle. This was a storm, clashing with the spectral fires of the universe, and storms were a product of the only true force that governed his life. And the notion that he was not merely witnessing this masterful work of discord with Xbalanque, but racing through its very heart... He could think of nothing more beautiful. He felt a sudden reverence–more powerful than the reverence of silent gods and two-faced miracles–for nature’s rage, as if this thunderous cloudburst had raced to meet him at just this juncture of will and chance so that he could lift his face to the blackened sky and let his voice become the thunder. Xbalanque had asked for shelter, and Amadi would give him anarchy. His ruined maw cracked open in a vulgar display of fangs and a roaring peal of laughter exploded forth from that jagged, crimson chasm, a laugh like damnation that shook the floors of heaven. As if in warning, the gods threw down a brilliant lance of lightning. The thunder rolled and he went mad. “Is this not salvation?” Amadi cackled in response to Xbalanque’s previous statement, weaving with the wet wind through a copse of gnarled cypress trees on paws light as smoke. A frenzied dance of spider and fly. These trees, writhing and groaning under the torment of nature, were certain to attract the spectral fire of lightning. He wondered if fear of those thunderbolts would keep Xbalanque at bay. “Is this not freedom? No other would dare to come out tonight. And yet here we are!” The Jackal, breath huffing out into the darkness in phantasmal fumes, finally ceased his wind-spun dance and turned his rancid gaze upon the massive hellion at his back. His dark bulk seemed even more pronounced under the weight of rainwater in his pelt, iron bands of muscle rippling just beneath the surface of his slick flesh, threatening danger, promising domination. He was a warrior born of a tempest itself, the thunderheads tainting the hue of his fur, the ethereal glow of lightning eternally reflected in his dead eyes, ghastly perforations into a nefarious world. Rampant destruction. Primal fear. A true force of nature. But where the storm was loud and overwrought, a demon unleashed from the chains of perdition, Xbalanque brewed a chaos of a different breed. In a moment of lucidity brief as a lightning flash, Amadi recognized his attraction to the brute. He was something new. And oh, how he longed to pick him apart. Rain dripping in curtains from every sharp jag of his skeleton, Amadi wound his way towards Xbalanque. “We make our own rules,” he gasped through his eternal grin, orbs ablaze in the night. “Me, a disfigured outcast, and you, a heartbroken monster... This world hates us so much, Xba, but the greatest joke of all is that we have it by its scrawny throat. Society doesn’t want us and in turning us out, stripping us of everything we’d ever known and loved, it set us free. Free men have nothing left to lose. They are dangerous and wild. Society fears the free man, Xba, because we aren’t a part of the plan. And even the best-laid plans are so easily scattered by just an errant breeze, aren’t they?” He chuckled deep in his throat, a hollow, cavernous rumble that stood out in stark contrast to his usual shrill, nails-on-glass cackle, boiling green eyes peering up into Xbalanque’s face through a dark frill of lashes. He wondered what the brujo was feeling right now, wondered if his skin was crawling, wondered if his blood was boiling. Amadi never could tell. He’d been alone for too many years. “Does it ever excite you, the vengeance in me, the conviction in you? What a volatile pair we make. An unstoppable force caught up in a whirlwind dance with an immovable object. I often feel as though, together, there is nothing we could not accomplish. Or destroy...” --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- words xx 1078 words. tunes xx "The Tempest" - Pendulum. notes xx Ehhh.

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