a blur of muscle and claws barrels toward him.
the impact is brutal—teeth snap, claws rake, the weight of the beast slamming into his side, sending them both rolling through the mud.
pain rips through him.
the cougar shrieks, twisting, claws tearing into his ribs, shredding through thick pelt. kóvictus does not let go. he wrenches his head. the fight ends when it flees. all can be heard is the raging dominus' battle cry, a last sounding trumpet against the dawn sky.
there is sharp pain in his underside. kóvictus ignores it. it is nothing. ignorant to the bleeding from the inside. he stumbles some ways, pushing through his morass, as minutes pass. dizzying, delirious as he goes.
March 07, 2025, 09:01 AM
ione watches.
at first, she does not breathe.
the shriek of the beast, the crash of bodies—her dominus, her husband, her crown laid low beneath fang and claw.
her eyes are wide, too wide. the pale winter glow of them stretches vast and horrified as she stands frozen, and for one long moment there is nothing in her except no.
no, no, no.
she moves only when the creature flees, her body gliding forward on silent, effortless limbs.
her heart pounds once, hard and hollow, and then slows. slows as she watches kóvictus stagger, as she sees the way his blood paints the earth.
and yet...
the despair comes, but it is not consuming.
it is knowing.
this is what happens to kings.
this is what happens to those who build empires on the backs of war and think the earth will not bite back.
ione’s breath trembles as she draws near, and it tastes of metal, of old violence, of something curling black and foul beneath her tongue.
it’s soft. reverent. but there’s something else underneath—something cold, and sharp, and ancient.
she does not rush to steady him. she watches the way he sways, the way the blood drips, drips, drips.
the gods are watching, too.
and if they mean to take him, well...
ione exhales. steps forward.
tilts her head.
whether it is a plea, or a command, or a taunt—
even she is not sure.
at first, she does not breathe.
the shriek of the beast, the crash of bodies—her dominus, her husband, her crown laid low beneath fang and claw.
her eyes are wide, too wide. the pale winter glow of them stretches vast and horrified as she stands frozen, and for one long moment there is nothing in her except no.
no, no, no.
she moves only when the creature flees, her body gliding forward on silent, effortless limbs.
her heart pounds once, hard and hollow, and then slows. slows as she watches kóvictus stagger, as she sees the way his blood paints the earth.
and yet...
the despair comes, but it is not consuming.
it is knowing.
this is what happens to kings.
this is what happens to those who build empires on the backs of war and think the earth will not bite back.
ione’s breath trembles as she draws near, and it tastes of metal, of old violence, of something curling black and foul beneath her tongue.
beloved.
it’s soft. reverent. but there’s something else underneath—something cold, and sharp, and ancient.
she does not rush to steady him. she watches the way he sways, the way the blood drips, drips, drips.
the gods are watching, too.
and if they mean to take him, well...
ione exhales. steps forward.
tilts her head.
come now. you are not finished.
whether it is a plea, or a command, or a taunt—
even she is not sure.
March 09, 2025, 06:31 PM
he had grown impatient.
theissor watched from the safety as the proud brute tumbled to his demise. red eyes sharpened, watching for any movement. they then turned towards the woman; the reverend mother. his woman, now, as it was written in the law of the gods of conquer.
he slithered to her side, tall shadow casting across her, and he's quick to make her scent his.
theissor watched from the safety as the proud brute tumbled to his demise. red eyes sharpened, watching for any movement. they then turned towards the woman; the reverend mother. his woman, now, as it was written in the law of the gods of conquer.
he slithered to her side, tall shadow casting across her, and he's quick to make her scent his.
reverend mother.his voice hoarse, his gaze only interested in her.
ione.he sneered, victory finally seeping into his blood.
you did this.
— rated mature, ic =/= ooc · 3-3-3
March 16, 2025, 12:46 PM
ione stood as marble before the beast who dared to claim her.
theissor’s breath coiled around her, thick with the stink of victory. his voice slithered, his sneer curdled with triumph. but she was not some trembling thing. she did not recoil.
there was no grief in her face, no weeping widow’s lament. she did not shatter like glass before him. kovictus was dead—this, she knew. but the gods had not written her ending here. the gods had not made her his.
she lifted her chin, letting him press close, letting him think his claim mattered.
theissor’s breath coiled around her, thick with the stink of victory. his voice slithered, his sneer curdled with triumph. but she was not some trembling thing. she did not recoil.
me?her voice was smooth, unbroken, though something bitter simmered beneath.
i?blue eyes, cold as a dagger’s edge, turned upon him.
you speak lies.
there was no grief in her face, no weeping widow’s lament. she did not shatter like glass before him. kovictus was dead—this, she knew. but the gods had not written her ending here. the gods had not made her his.
she lifted her chin, letting him press close, letting him think his claim mattered.
be careful what you say, theissor,she whispered, venom curling at the edges of her words,
lest the gods hear you and find you wanting.
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