A viper's nest of tyranny.

<H4>Out of Character</H4>Zeva, could you check <a href=http://shadowlack.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=1377&st=30>here</a> before you reply? Thanks.

<H4>In Character</H4>It seemed that the combination of warnings had had their desired effects — both males finally succumbed and cautiously entered the cursed chamber…

The taller and bulkier one came first, and Okkie immediately sensed a certain superciliousness about him. He didn’t seem afraid of what Kakosenas was telling him, and he even countered her frigid words with a downright derisive riposte. This in itself irritated the younger female, but what was more, this haughty male suddenly glanced her way, and she could almost see the wheels turning in his brain. He looked at her, saw the joint in her clutch, and automatically assumed she was some dim-witted addict without sense or purpose. Fury rose up in Okkie, bubbled just beneath her flesh and fur, but then she reminded herself — his arrogant assumption had just given her the upper hand in this encounter. Whereas the hulking beast assumed she was a mindless, senseless druggie, Okkie knew the facts. Sure, she was high, but she was incredibly smart about the science of her drug intake. She knew exactly how much substance to roll in every joint, and exactly how long to smoke it — just enough to give her a blitz, but not enough to start inflicting severe damage to her mental faculties (of course, she sometimes made exceptions, but only when alone or with a trusted friend). Ever since she’d first started up on the bad habit, she’d kept rigid tabs on her drug expenditure… Not to mention, she grew and rolled her own weed, so she knew exactly what she was doing to herself. Perhaps this was a bit reckless and foolhardy of her, but the true fool in this situation was this gargantuan he-pendragon. He had no clue that, although Okkie was teetering a bit on the stoned side, she was still incredibly perceptive and witty. This was his blunder, and though it infuriated the female a bit that he immediately took her to be a dope, she knew that his naïveté to her real condition would cause the male to let his guard down to her… A folly, as Kakosenas would say. This revelation caused a snide smirk to cross Twelve’s maw, but she almost immediately wiped it away. She didn’t want him to become wise to the truth. Then she would lose this advantage. She had to play her part, act like a purposeless druggie. Perhaps it would even be fun – who knew?

But before she could even consider how to act the part of a typical pothead, Okkie suddenly felt something strange. It was like a shadow that had crawled inside of her rib cage, one that was now slowly gliding upwards to catch in her throat. The banded pendragon grimaced as it seemed to creep up her brain stem like a slithering serpent, and she abruptly knew what it was. Someone in this room – almost definitely the egotistical male – had an extremely powerful form of telepathy at their proverbial fingertips. His powers were physically indiscernible, but Okkie could feel them in her psyche, as if he was sending out corporeal radar that bounced around inside her mind and then boomeranged back. It was her training as a spy that made her so keenly aware of his extrasensory skills… and, fortunately, she knew exactly how to deal with this situation. Before he had any chance to even think of probing her mind, Okkie focused intensely and mounted a mental block that was almost impregnable around her mind’s eye. She’d learned a lot about cerebral probing in her spy training, and she knew the enemy liked to infiltrate mentalities and seek incognito information in this most stealthy of ways. There was no way she’d let herself be subject to any such treachery, and so she built this wall promptly and expertly.

The additional ingenuity of this move did not escape Okkie. She realized that not only did this wall prevent Cynik from peeling open her mind like a melon… it also stopped him from becoming wise to the truth. He couldn’t insert his consciousness into hers, and realize that Okkie was playing him for a fool. Nay, the only way he could possibly discover her act was if she slipped up… and, hell, that wasn’t going to happen, if Okkie had anything to do with it.

Meanwhile, although she had a proverbial fortress for a mind, Okkie never forgot that she was a relatively diminutive, young female. She knew the brawny male had her in the strength department, and she knew that any sort of provocation could get her killed, even if Kakosenas wouldn’t make it easy for the colossal male. She thought of how easily he could beat her senseless, as she watched Kakos maliciously shake Salty’s head, and she wondered if the two males were companions. If that was so – would they attempt to defend each other? Would the Evil One’s fierce mockery of the moment cause the hulking he-pendragon to lash out in order to protect his smaller friend? Perhaps he’d slay both of them, and that would end any hopeful wisp of starting Shadowlack’s foundations… Okkie mused morbidly about this until Kakos let go of the younger male’s horns, and when there was a moment of immobility, she waited edgily for the leviathan to launch at either her or Kakos in an act of reprisal. Nothing like that happened, fortunately, but indeed, something happened. Perhaps Kakosenas was thinking along the same lines as Okkie – she whirled towards Cynik as if she thought he was going to attack, and made the first move, thrusting an icicle directly at the narcissistic male.

Oh, god. The true action had just begun – and it wouldn’t be long before someone got hurt.

 

Cynik's 'brow twitches as the ice-femme croons about how stuck up he must be. Naturally, it was more delicately worded, but he was no fool. His tongue remains stationary in his skull - he'd provoke her no further.

For the moment.

Instead, he looks on with dull horror as she grips Salty's horns and starts mangling his skull back and forth, before shoving him solidly away from her. So, she was strong. Or, at least she thought she was. Picking on a nioti wasn't exactly a hero's biggest brag from one with skills such as she boasted.

Being that he more or less had gotten this young 'dragon into this mess by lying, and trying to save his own face, Cynik felt oddly responsible. It was a new feeling for him - he'd never been responsible for the safety of anyone but himself and his grandmother. And that hardly counted - she was family, and really, she could easily take care of herself. The behemoth's amber eyes flare crimson before returning to their soft hue, the only indication of his.. annoyance.. at her mistreatment of Salty.

Then, something incredibly unexpected - with little to nil advance warning, a dagger made of ice was hurtling towards him. He had no time to think, survival instincts kicked in. Flaring his wings in the cramped space, the ruby scaled limbs smacked both the ceiling and the floor with a sound crack, but he cared little about the discomfort that caused.

Instead, without realizing it, he'd invoked his telekinetic abilities. He'd practiced often, but that was when he was bored, or when he was showing off. He had never had a practical application for the generally feminine-only trait. Then again, none of his mental traits were common in his sex, except for morphing.. but that required time, and in the spance of time covering a fraction of a heartbeat, there was nothing he could do besides deflect the oncoming missile.

Pearly whites bared to the full, Cynik's eyes flush pure white, and the ice dagger turns as if hitting a sloping wall, curving and then flying at a perpendicular angle to it's primary direction. No momentum is lost in this change, and the object flies directly at the stoner, burying itself deep in her left arm. Still overcome by his magic, he couldn't tell if it had halted halfway in her left limb, or if it passed through completely.

It was then Cynik's fierce pose fades away, and he realizes what he's unintentionally done - he'd never meant for anyone to be injured, he'd simply wanted to save himself from certain death. He takes two steps towards the caramel colored 'dragon, his white eyes shifting a soft orange again, but stops abruptly, as if hitting a wall.

Indeed, he had hit a wall. Not physical, however. Mental. Without being fully concious of his actions, as they simply were second nature to him, he had attempted to enter her mind. His purpose was to numb the pain receptors, perhaps knock her unconcious, so he could assess the wound, and assist. The idea of escaping had fled his mind in his haste to help her.

But this one had training against one such as him; a skilled telepathic. The walls would take some time before he could hack his way into her mind - no one was impregnable. But if she were lucid enough, she could build new walls as he broke her current ones down. It would take time and incredible energy on his part.

This discovery angered him immensely, not only because of her protection against him, but because he had not noticed it until now, and again his teeth flash in the darkness, his ears pinned flat to his head. His pose shifts to a defensive fighting posture, wings splayed, but horizontal, rather than vertical, like before. Swinging his skull from looking at the wounded XII, he eyes Kakos warily, <span style='color:#FA8630'>"Maybe you'd best stop standing there, useless as you are, and help your friend?"</span>

He really had no idea of their relationship - he hadn't the time to explore either mind to see. And now with the mental blocks the stoner had put up, it may take some time. But, according to logic, the two had been alive previous to his and Salty's entrance. The ice-femme seemed murderous, and if the caramel-stoner wasn't dead or injured, there had to be some affinity between them.

Ignoring both females, but keeping his eyes trained on Kakos, for any further ice missiles, he privately telepaths Salty, deep within the younger males' mind. It would be difficult, if not impossible for anyone, even a skilled telepath, to hear him.

Not that his message hed any secrets.

Yet.

But he had to ask the simple question, so horribly new to one so alone as himself; <span style='color:#FA8630'>{Are you alright?}</span>

Imagine, so many emotions, so many revelations, all in the time it takes one's heart to beat a few times! Which, his blood happened to be racing through his veins..

 

Well, holy shit! — Okkie’s prediction was correct. Indeed, it was not long before someone got hurt. And she was that someone.

Initially, the young female had no reaction. She watched the frigid dagger leap towards the he-pendragon, on a path of bladed destruction. Somehow, she knew he would deflect it or, or destroy it… stop it somehow. It came as no surprise when the male employed telekinetic powers to curve the icicle away from him, and Okkie watched the sharp sword of ice warp through the air. She was too interested in the fact that it had just switched courses via no discernable force, and so the youthful Twelve was not immediately aware of the fact that it was knifing right towards her. However, despite her awe, and despite the fact that mind-altering drugs were present in her veins, she did finally catch on… even tried to dodge the icicle. But everything had happened so fast, and Stormwing’s attempt to dodge was mostly futile. Yes, it saved her from taking a needle to the face, but the icicle still found itself hitting her, puncturing her flesh, carving her bone, and embedding itself solidly in the crook of her left arm. It cracked her marrow and sprayed her blood as Okkie fell, the inertia of her elusive stunt carrying her to the threadbare floor. A second later, the she-pendragon found herself blinking in surprise, suddenly on the floor for the second time that night. She was a bit dazed, and she had absolutely no reaction to her injury. That was — until she felt a pinprick of pain, and looked at her gored arm.

“Holy mother of sheep shitting whales!” Her cry came. Looking at the wound abruptly brought an onslaught of fiery pain, and Okkie began to holler out of sheer pain… not to mention justified wrath. “Pig fucker! Dick licker! Ass kisser! What in goddamn hell did you do that for? Do you like picking on females, you big flaming ass pie! Does it boost your weedy confidence? Does acting like a big bad man make you feel better about your microsopic wee-wee? Jeezuz fuck! I should use your dick as a splint! Only it’s too damn small and we all know you have erectile dysfunction! You’re damn flaccid useless!” All of this… rather spirited swearing was, of course, directed at the large telekinetic male. She hoped he now realized just how lucid she was. “Once I fix this bleeding mess, I’m going to rip off your tiny dick and staple it to your forehead. I will reinforce it with hot glue so you will never be able to rip it off unless you want to destroy both of your heads!”

While she was spilling expletives like a leaking wind bag, Kakosenas moved towards Okkie, her darker expression mirroring her friend’s — one of hurt and anger. But Twelve didn’t notice her companion… she was too busy cussing at the leviathan. That was, until Kakos tore the icicle from her arm, and then Okkie was aware. Slicing pain ripped up her arm, and she was suddenly acutely aware of every little injury — the shredded epidermis, the torn tendons, the shattered gristle and bone. She could feel blood pumping from her gaping wound like liquid pain, and it was all she could do to not cry out or bite Kakosenas’ hand in pained fury. The banded female was silenced by the agony, and she blinked back tears as she turned from the males towards Kakosenas. Her expression was a mingling combination of aching pain and confused anger — What the hell are you doing to me? Did you do to me? But Okkie did not try to pull away; she stayed still as a stone, even as the Evil One leaned down and cleansed her grievous cut with a blue tongue, then sealed it in a bind of ice.

“Yes, please, let’s,” Stormwing said when Kakos finished up and made her statement about going upstairs. “To my dormitory… I need to change out of these bloody clothes… get some fucking strong hash to help the pain… find my knives so I can castrate this male whose name I still don’t know, but whom I will now refer to as Pussy.”

And she gave ‘Pussy’ a glare that could cause Lucifer’s knees to tremble.

 

\\ OOC: LMAO, I know XII's really supposed to be pissed, and Cyn should be afraid, but I can't help but OOCly laugh like a school girl at her curses. I love it, 'tis too good. XD

\\ IC

Cynik, still baring the off-white oral daggers of his, watches the two females carefully. The hesitation had been clear in the ice-femme, and the anger was even more vibrant in the wounded caramel-stoner.

<span style='color:#FA8630'>{That's.. good.}</span> Cynic replies, just as deeply as before. Why on ramath was it so difficult to for him to fathom worrying about anyone? He didn't know. But he'd try.

He knew it was out of character for males to have telepathic powers, but so long as Salty thought it, Cynik could 'read' it. And now that it seemed they were in this together, he'd respect the serpentine pendragon, and not probe any further than picking up current thoughts.

As XII spits strings of curses, Cynik snorts, ebony lips covering his teeth and snarl fading as he displays his irritation. <span style='color:#FA8630'>{Hah! Flacid, my ass. You're probably a virgin who's studied one too many anatomy books between stogies!}</span> A private thought, directed at no one, deeply thought, and quite impossible to hear. But he thought it better to hold an intrapersonal monologue of his retorts, than voice them aloud. If these two really were friends.. companions.. whatever.. he didn't want to provoke a coordinated effort against him at this junction.

Cynik smirks as she decides to refer to him as 'Pussy', and proceeds to give him a stare that could wilt a healthy flower and raise the dead. Neither of which he was; vegetable in either connotation. Thus he smiles in reply. He couldn't resist. It just tickled him far too much to be referred to as a feminine sexual organ. And it wasn't the first time, either!

Simultaniously, he directs to her an open telepath;

<span style='color:#FA8630'>{My, your vocabulary is stunted and slanted towards the profane.. I should get you a dictionary.. or thesaurus, at least..}</span>

and croons aloud;

<span style='color:#FA8630'>"Mrowl! Do you happen to have any catnip? Or did you smoke it all already, caramel kitten?"</span>

He flicks his wings as a giddy, yet nasty and arrogant, grin blooms across his dark muzzle. Oh, what trouble he was trying to get himself into.. but, he didn't fear death. He knew what awaited him. Something told him, he may find his way to Fronima soon, should he irritate them further. Unfortunately, however, he was forgetting about his companion of sorts, and new found compassion for his safety.

 

Perhaps smoking another joint was not such a good idea. Or at least that was what Okkie mused as she lay there on the floor, bleeding slowly. She had already had enough, and smoking one would make it impossible for her to take any painkillers. A dangerous mix. And I most definitely need to take a few aspirin, she thought. Weed would merely take the edge off my pain. I want to drown it out altogether. She probably would have begun pondering about proper dosage — how many pills did it take to rub out the pain of a severely wounded elbow? — but just then her mind and her ears caught a few insults that ‘Pussy’ was slinging her way. The former was garbled because of her mental fortress, but Okkie understood the gist of it. And the latter was just as easy to understand. Calling her misguided and clichéd names, like any old conceited male with a stick stuck in his rear cavity. Okkie briefly scratched her nose with her good hand while she considered whether to take these as blows beneath the belt, and then she looked directly at the hulking male, ears folded back to express bemused displeasure.

I am ever so sorry that my language is not up to your egotistical standards, fuckface. Excuse me for swearing while I endure the pain you induced upon me, an agony which was quite undeserved. Hah. Do you honestly think I give a hot damn about what you think? Get over yourself. And your catty little comment there, should I have been hurt by that? That was something some nioti would say during some playground fight. You know nothing of me, yet you have judged me to be some stoner without a mind. Well, think fast, because I am far from what you believe me to be. You are so weak to have judged me so early, what a blunder your bigotry is. Shame, shame.

Stormwing may have continued her telepathic eloquence, but just then Kakosenas began to wrap her arm up in a strange length of fabric. The banded pendragon turned her gaze away from ‘Pussy’, becoming essentially deaf to any comebacks he decided to toss her away, and watched her companion dress her wound. The cloth she used wasn’t too pretty, but it looked much better than the open cut. Even if it didn’t match her outfit. It made it feel better, too, somehow, and it was with ample strength and flexibility that Okkie stood, albeit with the Evil One’s assistance. She expected a new flush of pain, or perhaps a bout of dizziness, but neither came, and the caramel femme sidled towards the door, pondering over what she would change into once they got up to the dormitory… and whether or not she had a few virgin (drug-free) cigarette-joints in her store upstairs that would be safe to smoke after she took a few pain relievers.

As she passed by the younger male on her soft saunter towards the door, hybrid eyes met his, and Okkie shook her head at his oddly silly remark. “Eh, are you insinuating that he tastes like a pussy? Be that feline or feminine in category, take it any way you want. We can call you Bitter, little dearie, if it makes you feel cool. But you’ll always be a loser, ’specially if you keep hanging around the likes of shrivel-dick over there.”

 

He was absolutely delighted, and horrified at the same time.

Delighted that he'd gotten under both of their skins. The females' skins, specifically. He was irritating them both past the point of control - elsewise, why would they bother replying to his snide quips? However, he was truly sorry that the caramel colored femme was injured - his intent was never to hurt anyone. But she could interpret the action and result however she pleased; that was none of his concern.

The ice-femme had given him a rather calculating look, that he wasn't exactly pleased with. The connotations involving her look were too many to number, and he didn't like this feeling of being left out of the loop. He'd resisted trying to search out the other femme's mind, worried of setting off any mental alarms. He knew the other had figured him out, and just may have relayed the information to her.. friend.

While thinking, and planning, he ignored the two shooting their mouth off about his new nickname, instead, occupied with how on ramath he was going to free Salty, who was being unceremoniously dragged by the horns again.

Should he attack one of them? The druggie was already injured, he didn't think she'd be much of a problem - as much as he dispised the thought of injuring a female. But if he went after the injured one first, the ice-femme would turn on him. However, if he attacked she-whom-was-dragging-Salty, she just might be fast enough to try and use Salty as a body shield. That wouldn't be pleasant: disembowling the one you were trying to save in the first place.

He already held enough guilt, more wouldn't do.

Thus, he follows. Not because he was bidden, but because he planned to exact revenge. Pent up anger over his parents murderers was starting to come out in witnessing the mistreatmeant of this nioti. But he had to be careful. And in doing so, he would unfortunately be slow to act.

He only hoped Salty would still be in good shape by the time he had the opportunity to play the part of rescuer.

Cynik directs to Salty, again, deep communication, out of range for the two devilish ladies to intercept, <span style='color:#FA8630'>{Well.. hold on. I'll stick around. ... If only to protect you as best I can.}</span> Awkward, yes. But hopefully his intentions were clear, seeing as his communication skills were quite fuzzy.

 

OOC Sorry I could post yesterday. Mom was waiting for a phone call all day. One of the nieghbours went to the hospital by ambulance and didn't have a ride home.
-.-¿

BIC
The halls of Janardan were growing quiet, after a busy day. On his way to his dormitory, Jecht Savarally felt that usual twinge in his stomach. He had decided to skip dinner, instead he had planned on spending some time with his mother. But much to his disappointment, she had been asked to stay behind in one of her classes, and Jecht wasn't too keen on sitting in for an extra hour of gym. So he decided to retire early.

Jecht now found himself making his way to the cafeteria. He had his course all planned out until he caught sight of a large yellow sign posed at the end of one of the halls. The bright coloured sign drew him, and he soon forgot about his afternoon snack. He padded quietly down the hall and read the sign aloud,

"CAUTION floor slippery when wet"

Jecht smiled, the meaning of the sign perplexed him a bit, but the words seemed to flow smoothly out of his mouth. With the mystery of the sign laid to rest, Jecht turned around and was about to head back when he noticed something else.

The silence. The hall he had entered was very remote, there were only a few doors on the bare walls. Even with his large ears, he strained to listen for the sounds of the school. There was a sound. Murmurs that crept up through one of the doors on the wall. Jecht cocked his head and pinned his eyes on the door he was sure the voices were coming from.

 

As the party reached the staircase leading into the bottom-most dormitories, Okkie momentarily paused. Her vividly glowing oculars traveled down to her arm, and she stared at the viscous sliver of maroon which was seeping through the cloth bind ’round her bleeding wound. It had been made thick by the cooling of the ice, but Okkie was not reassured by this — it appeared that, despite all efforts to stem the flow, her injury was still open and spilling out her life’s treasure. The female peered at it nervously for a few seconds, then reached her right arm over and tried to tighten the knot in the ugly flannel wrap. Turned out she was pretty useless with one hand, and all her fumbling didn’t accomplish much. Finally, still worried but hapless with medical knowledge, Twelve gave up, and her mismatched orbs flickered briefly over the rest of the tribe. Kakosenas, Bitter, and Pussy. They were all still there, mindless of her dilemma, and they were waiting for her to push open the door.

So push open the door she did. ’Kie leaned her good side against the heavy panel, and shoved. The door creaked open, exposing an expanse of stretching hallways beyond. Okkie stumbled through, and as she did so, she turned her tapered muzzle to peer at her followers. One, two, three, they trailed in quick succession. Because she was watching them and not the corridor, the banded youth completely missed the stranger loitering a few feet away. And as she finally turned to face the breadth of the hall, Kakosenas was already there, talons unsheathed, and Okkie found herself teetering precariously as Bitter’s weight was tossed at her.

“Shit!” This was her only word as the injured female attempted to stay balanced even as the impact shook her entire frame. She didn’t want to fall to the floor and cause her wound to become even worse, and so she employed every muscle and sinew in the effort to recapture equilibrium. Luckily, she was able to salvage her balance, and then the caramel pendragon was standing quite solidly, staring blankly at the shock of the collision. She didn’t know the why’s or wherefore’s, and so when she finally realized what had happened, she did not see Kakosenas or acknowledge that the Evil One had been the culprit — she merely looked a foot sideways, saw the offending nioti with his curling horns, and realized that he was the one who’d struck her.

Voicelessly, Twelve wound back her good arm, then brought it forward, striking the younger male right back. Her flat palm caught him in the arm in a stinging slap. She then shoved him away from her, and punishment forgotten for now, turned to the more interesting event — Kakosenas’ single-handed slaughter.

Mismatched orbs of lime and cobalt fell upon the scene of carnage, and they suddenly flared with predatory lust. Okkie watched as her friend opened her claws and tore them through the stranger’s hot flesh like ten dexterous knives through yielding butter. Kakosenas slashed, slashes, slashed, spraying blood everywhere — on the walls, on the floor, even on the ceiling. Okkie forgot her own injury as she watched crimson fling through the air and cling to every surface in sight. A droplet of it even clung to Okkie’s eyelashes, but she ignored it and continued to survey the grotesque sight before her. The Evil One was truly living up to her nature, a lioness carving into her kill with feminine magnificence and deadliness. The efficiency of her movements was fatally swift, and she tore into the beige fur like a starving shark. There was no rhyme or reason to her butchery, but ’Kie was nonetheless sickly fascinated, and pleased. Her hybrid eyes never left her friend and her unfortunate quarry; she watched every second of it, hanging on every scrap of skin which was torn from gristle and bone and flung to swim in a sea of carmine blood…

And all she could think, with giddy pleasure and morbid interest was, At least it wasn’t her this time.

 

Cynik had no words to go with the horror he was witnessing. There is nothing.. was nothing.. that could define his emotions at that moment in time.

Too many things came swirling back to him as he watched blood pattern the walls, floor, and random objects with a haphazard flair. Things that had been bright, or off-white colored, were now deep crimson, and deepening in color further as it began to dry, no longer all together flowing as it should through the living body.

The stranger, a student, he simply assumed, had been torn apart in a matter of minutes by the screaming female, her talons digging into flesh and spraying the ruby liquid all around.

Memories flood his vision and he can no longer see the sight before him. The ice-femme and the carnage disappear, XII and her injured limb fade, and even poor Salty, abused and flung away twice now in the spanse of a few seconds, vanishes.

Replaced in his line of sight, as if living it again, were the memories of coming to his home den in the mountains, finding blood trailing out the opening. Pale brown dirt of their meager home was now stained red, clumped into soggy dirt balls where more of the crimson lifeblood had fallen together.

His eyes adjusted to the darkness of the cave, confused. There was supposed to be light. They always had some form of light, whether it was the comforting glow of his father's tail flame, or a candle his mother brought home from markets to grace their square wooden table.

But neither sight greets him. This was not cheerful.

His father was the first thing his eyes came across, fresh wounds, deep, knives and claws had found their mark. Defensive wounds.. he had fought. Probably protecting his small wife, Cynik's mother. Afterwards he had seen blood under his father's claws, and had found some satisfaction to know his father had fought back and scored cuts of his own before his throat was slashed. His mother lay behind, her death less bloody; a knife wound in her belly, and scrapes on her arm, but it was obvious her neck was broken - no one's head could twist like that.

The horror had originally left him in a state of shock, crying, as if beaten himself.

But having relived this scene in memories and dreams many times before, Cynik did not cry now. No tears welled in his flame-colored eyes, he did not cower, or run from his past.

Instead, he screams in rage. An anger-filled howl that could cause an earthquake, had he the power to inflict such earth magic. His loud voice echos off the walls, reverberating in his skull. Indeed, he was giving himself a headache. But the anguish would not subside, and neither did his emotional cry. Not immediately, anyway.

After a moment, he realized he was glaring at nothing in particular, wishing death to everything, chest heaving from the effort he's exerted in sustaining the powerful note. His claws were trying to bite the ground, and the tendons in his hands and arms strained, but alas, his talons refused to penetrate the solid floor of the school. His whole body was rigid, tense, awaiting someone to provoke him.

He would snap at this junction.

He wished to calm down. To settle himself, then flee. They might be startled enough to let him leave without fuss.. but he couldn't bring himself to pry his tense body from its current position.

One last heaving sigh escapes his flared nostrils and mouth, and he forces himself to relax. His claws retract to their former harmless state, but the deadly glare stays.

After his little dramatic episode, the only thought that entered his mind was deeply wishing to meditate, to necromance, to speak with this poor fellow in Fronima, if only to apologize for the way that he'd died.

Unfortunately, he knew not this poor souls' name.

 

Jecht looked on with a baffled expression as the four 'dragons emerged from the door. He didn't recognize any of them. For the most part they appeared to be older than him. Curiosity sooned turned to fear as his eyes moved from the first injured pendragon to the sleek silverlined femme with the dark stained clothing. Her taloned hands were wrapped around the horns of a younger pendragon as she appeared to have dragged him throught the doors. Her cold eyes burned into Jecht's for but a moment. And then it happened...

Jecht's mouth moved but no sound came out as the female charged him. She appeared very different now, for when she first emerged from the doorway, her fur gave off a silver sheen. It was surely not the same darkly creature that bore down on him now.

Jecht didn't even have time to flinch. The taloned juggernaut clashed with the slippery floor sign but regained her balance instantaniously. A few slashes at his pelt let his corse tan fur fly. Jecht opened his mouth to protest but a searing pain jolted his senses. He peered through melancholic eyes only to catch the back of her hand pull away. His jowls flamed and the taste of his own blood spoiled over his tougne.

Then he felt himself being hoisted up. A string of meaningless words sprayed from his attacker's mouth. He couldn't even begin to understand such garble. The words were so tainted with hate and cruiciftion that they hurt Jecht nearly as much as the onslaut of the she-'dragon's merciless talons. Salty tears spilled from his eyes and burned at his open flesh wounds.

Jecht felt his body slam into something hard. The wall? His paws dangled inches above the blood smeared floor. The femme's talons ripped and tore through his yielding flesh. Jecht hit the floor hard. His blood soaked body reduced to a mass of blood and tissue. His senses kicked in and simply by nature a small growl rumbled in his throat. The poorly attempted growl sounded more like a trickling cough. Hot sticky blood poored out of a large puncture on his neck. The wall of the great vein had been missed by a fragment of an inch. Of course his other wounds were more than enough to cease him. Jecht's eyes were beginning to glaze. With the light dulling in his eyes, he looked at the female pendragon once again. She was as nearly covered in his blood as he was. His eyes met hers and for a brief second, Jecht saw her for what she was. And then she set upon him once more.

He made no motion to escape this gaff torture. He didn't bristle his fur or curl his lips in an attempt to snarl. His mind didn't work work that way. He didn't make quick descisions nor was able to think on his toes. He didn't and wouldn't ever consider striking back. He couldn't. Perhaps his egg was dropped or some sort of bad chromosone had been part of his make-up, either way Jecht was incapable of doing anything about this kind of punishment. The only word that rolled thorugh his mind was...

"Why?"

 

It seemed that Okkie was the only one who hadn’t plunged into some sort of twisted reverie, some sort of freakish tempest of blinded emotions. Kakosenas was a fanatical wretch, tearing and slicing and murdering, her head empty of thought and her spirit devoid of sensation. Pussy was swirling in a vortex of reminiscences and grief, his anger weaving perceptibly amongst the clustered pendragons. Bitter, meanwhile, was engulfed in both maudlin and corporeal flames, his heart’s fire raging around him in an infernal stream of conflagration. And Okkie just stood there, in the midst of it all, her maimed limb bleeding slowly, watching the turmoil tear around her. Everything, from the males’ breakdowns to the Evil One’s manic episode to the final, gurgling breaths hissing from the victim’s cooling lips… everything she watched with icy eyes. She wasn’t emotionless, but unlike the others, she simply wasn’t plagued by defects whose origins rotated in years long past. Thus, as every other soul — or lack thereof — in the room wound in their personal abstractions, the Twelfth merely stood. Aloof, vigilant, detached.

Luckily, it was not long before the heat of the moment began to simmer down. Kakosenas finally beat the last breath from her unwitting prey, ripped the ‘candy’ she desired from its lifeless form, and then moved back, steeping in blood and postmortem euphoria. The two males, too, began to surface from their living nightmares, the younger of the two spread-eagle on the linoleum. There was a pregnant moment as the entire group paused collectively, and then the tension snapped like so many icicles after a thawing frost, as the Evil One turned and began to lead the way up the corridor. As if mindless and careless of what had just come to pass… of the carcass whose rinds were strewn haphazardly on the floor, on the walls, everywhere.

“I really hope you have a way to keep your tracks invisible,” Okkie piped up as she began to trail her mauve-tufted friend. “And I don’t mean just physical tracks,” she added as Kakos turned to magically erase her carmine paw prints. “I mean traces, evidence. If one professor… one student… one anything finds out you did that, we’re all going to be fucked to hell. Because they’ll come interrogating, and they’ll not only find you covered in his blood, me with a mutilated arm, and two ignoble males, they’ll also find my stash. Then we’d all be sent straight to the dungeon, if you get what I mean.”

And then Twelve fell silent, padding softly beside her companion now, somewhat tense about what had just occurred, but also confident that her friend would be able to keep them all ‘safe’. Somehow.