Phantom Hollow There can be only Two (For my little Chicken Pox <3)

Welcome to my latest abode, Zak. ;3 @Makaro

Slade had enough time within the light-drenched world, and as any beast of preference for the shadows of near-unnatural twisted and gnarled tusks of rotten trunks and ominous mists, the beast secluded himself back into the home he knew best. He had been denned here for long periods of time, as many didn't make the error or wandering into the abyssmal terrain of fog drenched shadowlands such as these, and when they did, he enjoyed every second in making them regret the folly. With ease, he used the mist to hide the bulk of his behemoth of a form, only emerging when the lighting was well underway from either the strangled fractions of light from the sun that barely touched the cursed lands, or the luscious pale time of moon's grace as it assisted him in his frightening advances.

The mighty solitary king retired to the den, the sun returning to the sky after it's ventureaway, and the nightmare had made it in just as the first glisten of painful light sparkled just outside the entrance. Immediately, his other senses heightened upon the lack of sight, molten orbs of hellfire sheathed behind void shaded lids while he curled his tank body into a comfortable position. His auds were radars, picking up traces of smaller animals scampering to find both food and mates for the season, enjoying their time of day while the King of the Nightmares was away. Nares told traces of passing animals, hares, frogs, snakes, and others skittering past and passing their abundant perfume to him.

Minutes turned into hours as he slumbered, the world still darkness to him behind closed eyes, though very much alive in his senses. The Shadow Sire kept temporary hibernation up until the pull of the world signaled him, once more. Peeking open an eye, the shards of terrifying gold slashed into the void of night. Night. Wonderous night.
His time to once again, go and play.

Blood born...

            ...that's what they called him. To a wandering traveler perhaps that held some appeal as if it was the feat of a hunter claiming his brood would be strong or perhaps a near ritualistic rite of passage that portrayed few pups surviving birth. Paint the picture how one sees fit yet understand the truth... -he was damned from the start.

Memory...
They named him Makaro as it was his mother's final wish yet in her death came the realization of ill omens to come. 

By the time his eyes opened to glimpse the world his wet nurse howled in terror to rouse the pack at the sight she beheld. A pup with eyes that matched the blood moon set inside a coat of pitch. If there was ever a need to kill their own to allow the Spirits to leave their pack be then it was that night that they all sat around the Alpha begging his fate be sealed, Makaro's fate. Be it pity or perhaps mercy fallen on the pup from a dearly departed Mother the murder of youth went unsatisfied by their Alpha's order. -Perhaps that was the beginning of the end after all...

Makaro didn't quite know what happened on that fate filled day... or who struck first but it was sudden, swift, and without mercy. 

A rival pack took its time in patience as the hunting party left the den all for one chance to divide the pack and take out as many as possible. Luck or a gift from the beyond saw the fruits of their labor rewarded as blood split upon the green pastures. All Makaro knew was that his wet-nurse suddenly warned all the pups to seek the safety of the tree roots before she was overwhelmed. He could still hear her cries of defeat, see the cruelty the invaders inflicted, watched as den brothers and sisters were made sport of. -Given their 'chance' to flee or fight before scooped up into the jaws of fate like a wild hare then spat out again to be laughed at. It was that agony the pack sought to bring the Alpha and his hunting party back to face them and it all would start all over, -then start again it did. 

Blood... Makaro watched his Alpha ripped away slowly. Fangs buried into the creatures legs to sever tendons so he would be powerless to watch his brood die right in front of him. Makaro was next on their list... -saved for this moment Makaro stood his ground, at first, planting his paws to better dig into the dirt, "Courage!" One scoffed, "Sad, how must it feel to know only your pups hold it when its far removed from yourself."

"I'm not afraid of you!" Makaro defiantly squeaked, "Pity... its more fun when they are..."

Makaro was no hero nor a match for these dogs when one unceremoniously plucked Makaro from the ground in his jaws. The black pup became propelled, airborne, falling to the ground with a thud and a cry. His back right leg twisting unable to right itself before pulled up again and tossed. Laughter saved him... -these mongrels were here for the Alpha not what wouldn't survive the Night. So of course when Makaro's Alpha closed his eyes and departed this world it came to no surprise that the victorious simply marked him with the hike of their legs then left the creature to certain doom... -that was Makaro's story, this was his end or at least... -how it should have ended.

The Night... it found Makaro with a chilling embrace. Shadows born of fear plagued him or perhaps pushed him to this place... this darkened land all too far removed from his home. His own blood now hardened and dirtied his pelt nearly sealing one eye completely. Not certain of what to do or where to go he simply chose a direction and limped along. 

Now on the edge of his ultimate end he, at last, grew tired and sat down to await fate. Was it his fate to die?

....that decision ultimately fell to another. -Who would surely know when his territory welcomed a visitor, one whom was known as the Nightmare King.

Slade found tonight to be oddly calm, and that in itself was a signal of trouble brewing. He couldn't exactly place a claw on it, but it was a differnt form of trouble, precisely one he did not craft, which irritated him slightly. The majestic vile being stalked the shadows, seeking guidance, seeking anything that would allow him pleasure of ridding the Hallows of undesired...intention...hymns...shameless.
His vision flickered for a second as he took on a headache, and with a brutal growl, the man winced as it forced gritted teeth and something rage-tempting from him.

Soon, the migraine ravaged through his brain until a cry was heard. It was feeble, pathetic, young. It's vocals bled Slade, as this was no prey being slaughtered. The noted within the pained whelp were those of a wolf. The migraine stopped just as sudden as it had arrived as his bulky crown swiveled, turning to the source of that useless...mercy...

It was noxious how far he was, the sound relocation of the hollows forcing him to retract his trail and start anew, but soon the bitter swell of blood's caress frolicked within his airways, and following it's lull he found himself in a clearing. Blood...blood was everywhere. Every...where..
With corpses littering the ground, the scene played out before his ensnaring gaze, the vehemence ruling his mind. Slaughter, unbridled and ruthless, a pack who was not prepared for such surpise. The face of agony, another of suprise, some of rebellion, and shock were still molded onto the many faces he cast a glance to.
Even pups were scattered about the camp, their tiny bodies broken, lifeless...useless...

Slade sniffed about, his snout shoving smells into his brain, piecing together somethings that simply did not add up. A piece was missing from this masterpiece, a single piece.
Piss soaked the ground, drying and the Shadow Sire analyzed it, his nares keeping the scent and wolves who made it, memorized in a cemented block of memory. He would have to see exactly what pack planned and executed this attack and to congradulate them in their flawless-

Just as the word left his mind's lips, the sound of something dragging along sanded ground snapped his ears directly, his front soon following suit. Just as he thought they were perfect.
Following the sound, Slade couldn't help but notice the obious trail of blood that tinged an obvious path, and after such a small slew of seconds, the trail ended. A small thing lay draped across the fringes of grass, the blood and scents of urine splattered acros this wolf like a living crime scene. This was he, the Missing Piece. The Vengeful Shade who would bring death to those who had culled the last breaths of his family. Though it was probably not embalmed in the youth's head, Slade would make it so.
This wolf would be what Cry failed to be.
A Nightmare's Child.

It was a blessing Slade had believed the glacial eyed male to be worthy of, but oh was he wrong. Cry had not suffered as this prodigy had. Cry had escaped Death's hand, evading the etheral touch of the Void insatiably, almost as though he wanted to feel demise, yet the Sire of Shadows knew better. This child was a ShadowBorn, cloaked in the same abyssmal shade Slade wore regally, and as Slade had yet to see the hue of the pup's eyes, he knew instinctively how intimidating he could craft those gems to be. They would be unyeilding in their slaughter, and the last sight many would see before their own final breaths would be those lovely pretties.
Slade would make it so.

The Wicked Messiah pulled his lips back, revealing pearls, glistening and sharp as they reflected dangerously in the spy of the moonlight, and he knelt a head to the small body, maw opening wider. Yet as the rumored poisonous bite took hold of the youth's scruff, he did not shred, rip, or taint the hide of this whelp. No, he lifted his crown, the motionless pup dangling from those daggers, gentle, and instead salvation was delivered that night.

Off he whisked the pup, back into the unbiased grace of the Night. Back to his den, where he would weld this piece back together, back to fit into another portrait fit for a King.

The moon was full...

             ...there was irony to be found in that but also a sense of calm. To be sure Makaro felt trauma having been powerless to help a pack that never fully accepted him but never out right rejected him either. If this was a night to die the surely... No! -This was no time to be content! This was no time to smile and close his eyes like prey and accept fate. -This was a time to be angry, angry that he failed, angry that he was powerless, angry for the weakness of his pack, angry that the others that slaughtered the whole of his life didn't even find him worthy of killing. This was an insult even one so young as he understood full and well.

Crusted in blood his only good eye looked to the stars breathing through the one nostril not clogged with blood mixed mucus.

Spirits be damned and the whole of this Wood be damned if he allowed himself to-- ...a twig snapped close by melting all mental bravery... -The one good eyes swiveled within his skull around to see what was near as his own body fell upon itself from wounds sustained to assist the effort. In the shadows only Teeth and two large glowing orange eyes so unnatural to this realm. Suddenly all that hype was gone, everything building him up wasted, when those eyes froze him in place. Worse yet they belonged to something massive too large to be a wolf. It must have been a bear but as the moonlight revealed the totality of this behemoth Makaro knew the figure of a Wolf all too well. A Lone feral? 

Spirits... -breath seized and he trembled but not of fear. -Yes of course he was scared but not of this creature that suddenly spawned within the Night but in the fact he was about to never grow older and seek out those responsible for this day. 

Closer Slade drew and the tremors intensified but the stare Makaro gave was unwavering. It would be the easiest meal the Loner could manage for sure but that eye would burrow into him forever if Makaro could help it. Even if Slade couldn't see it...

Just as teeth should have ended it all right there Makaro winced on the edge of death and felt himself lifted skyward! That good eye burst open to see his paws dangling and the King of Night whisking him away to Spirits knows where. One question plagued the pup forcing it to manifest on his aching tongue, "why...?"

Slade had taken the youth to his den, the larger-than-average bask of a home more than enough room to accompany the two lupines. Immediately, Slade set to work, purposefully ignoring the useless question posed by the whelp. Now was not the time to answer questions; now was the time to conserve energy for the next brew of pain that was to be branded into the young heir. It would not hurt Slade to force this into the pup, as it would only be a trial to see whether this one was the one. The one fit to assume the mantle of Vengeance. A throne a Reaper could be unmovable from.

The dark Sire held the pup down as he took to cleaning him, rough laps of his silver tongue ridding the tiny body of grit and grim, layer by layer, piece by piece. His tongue assaulted every crevice, shedding away the neglect the world had visually inflicted on him. Ears, tail, body, paws, underside, all were not hidden from the dark grey cleaning muscle. As he was finishing up the wash, volcanic irises studied the unnatural angle of the leg, the limp limb dangling. Swifter than a python, the last lick barely left his maw before he grabbed the shank of the boys flank, gentle but firmly, and twisted the leg back to it's original position, an audible 'pop' settling between the males as Slade snapped the disjointed limb back to it's proper place.

No answer...

              ...typical. Suppose there was no real reason to know everything on the spot which was more welcome then even Slade could know as Makaro drifted into slumber eased though fatigue. If anyone was gifted enough to see Slade within the shadow of his domain all they could glance was a limp body the beast may have thought to claim for his supper upon the morrow. Except this momentary rest wasn't allowed to last forever as gravity slapped him back into his mortal shell.

Makaro winced when his leg screamed against the dirt while his eye went to speedy work trying to ascertain just where he was now. A den for sure yet dank, unkept, littered with a sense of dread as if he did not belong... -another typical feeling all to comforting.

Yet it was the all too sudden bath that chilled Makaro to the bone having first been pinned then washed from scruff to tail. All too naturally Makaro squirmed under the duress his body felt in its discomfort. Every bone ached, pelt itching, and his head still pained itself recoiling in thoughts of rage and sadness. -Still he couldn't help think there was more going on here in the hulking mass of a brute that took to allowing itself a dismal level of kindness. Every moment Makaro's eye stole a glimpse of Slade a tongue, paw, or nose pushed his sight aside and moved on to the next area of concern without pause.

Makaro's leg... Disfigured and obviously in need of attention.

Instinct bounced the pup to panic in anticipation of the pain he would soon feel... -but try as he like Slade expertly pinned the pup and begun his work of repair in moments that left Makaro weeping and snapping tiny white pins at the open air. Several times he tried to bite Slade but couldn't contort his body in a away that could deliver an impact. For all the wasted effort the deed was done and it left Makaro spasming then limp upon his side breathing rapidly until he at last found a way to relax himself. The key being the moonlight itself...

...That one eye rested on the dream-light that crept into the den from the entrance enticing the pup to ease itself like a Goddess whispering sweet nothings into his ears. When he was all but dead Makaro looked to Slade and studied him. 'Was it over?' ... "What was to follow..."

Thoughts begging question with no answer other then to wait and see... -though that eye remained on guard still staring down Slade not entirely trusting. Then again after the events of his life lead to this moment who would Makaro trust ever again?

The screams, whines and whimpers reached a harmony that threatened to tickle a sadistic fancy in the older man, but he quelled such a raunchy pleasure. This pup was going to be raised as just as Slade would have raised his own. No biased sway of praise or taint of neglect would dare touch this child's upbringing.

After the music died down to pants and soo silence, Slade was appreciative of how the whelp hadn't bombarded him with questions. Silence was what best taught those, as it crafted Listeners, and not Talkers. Listeners were who survived, while Talkers perished to their mouths insistent droning. Words were special, and they deserved to be treated as such...sparingly.

They were eye to eye, and Slade was soon growing in sight of what lay before him. This boy was beautiful, and most of what enamoured the Sire was the glaring scarlet of a rare eye color. It was him. He was the one.
Pleased he could have gotten such a catch, Slade allowed himseld to smile. It was brief, swallowed back by the blaspemy that was his face, but it had been there for a fleeting second.

Turning, Slade dug a massive paw into the outside edges of his den entrance, and single pawedly dug up a rabbit that he had caught earlier that day before the sun had ruined his life. It was still fresh, the warmth kept inside by the insulation of the soft soil, allowing the blood to remain luke warm and wet. The Shadow Sire placed the small prey before the ebony sheathed youth, his sun flare gems laying upon his newly adopted company.
Words need not be spoken, as food was presented before a weak wolf, and the intention was clear; food gave strength, which was restored upon a well established meal.

Ears perked...

              ...and his thirst became deep. The iron scent of that crimson flow begged the pup, Makaro, to prop himself up and devour it. -Yet as Slade dragged the body from its cool depository he merely remained where he was as his only good eye watched with great interest. Slade was unknown to Makaro and could easily kill him at any point but more over after the cruelty displayed from the assaulting pack that devastated Makaro's former den family should Slade be any different?

However as the meat was tossed before him and Makro's host simply watched and waited the pup began to, at last, move on his own. At first slowly he stammered and clawed his front legs to a propped up position then took aim at the sustenance, -one final look at Slade was all that he gifted before he pounced his front end upon the rabbit and chewed. Tearing flesh and fur without thought or care as if Slade would take it from him just as soon as it was offered. Too the little pup he would atleast taste the damn thing before being tossed up into the air of cruelty again.... just one bite... one drip of the blood down his throat having gone without water for this long.

The longer he was allowed the more he took until a whole leg was practically in his stomach before he stammered backwards. 

Instinct commanded he eat more in the event no more was to be had but to Makaro this Wolf saved him. The crimson hue of his eye looked up from a mouth drenched in red as a tongue took to clean away the self made mess. The only thing he could do was wait to be allowed to continue as his life wasn't his own the day he should have died but then was carried, bathed, and fed by this stranger.

Stranger... -a sudden realization that no names were given. Makaro wouldn't give his true name yet as it was sure to be a sign that they were on equal terms when clearly that wasn't true, "Blood Born..."

The name of his former packs curse upon him. That was all he gave Slade to ponder...

Pleased embers simmered their light within the airy harbor of these phantoms as the Sire let the pup eat the majority of rabbit shank. It was a hefty meal, and with the toxic swoon of exhaustion, if the young wolf succumbed to it's siren call, much of his strength would return with godspeed. But a voice had sewn through the abyss of this cave, and the words furrowed Slade's mind.

All wolves were born in blood, and if this was the title fit for the youth, given to him by his dam, then Slade was throughly disappointed. Something as precious as this pup deserved something more than 'Blood Born'. His dam was a fool, curr in and out.
However, she was dead now. Nothing of her mattered, anymore. That life was behind this boy, and he would learn of it the more time he spent with a King, rather than those useless and pathetic peasants who dared hold him back from his potential.

It was the night, and as much as Slade desired the pup learn at the first leap of oppertunity, he knew to keep the wolf weak through physical strain would only prove futile and regressive. He would take no selfish step such as that. If he were to survive the trainings, he would need the totality and beyond of strength.

Slade sat up, and postioned his wall of a body infront of the den. He would guard the den through the night, knowing his nocturnal insomnia forbade him the release of sleep at such a blessedly cursed hour. With nothing more than a chin over his muscle bound shoulder, a thunder rolled through the space within the den, the rumbling baritones belonging to the Nightmare King himself.

"Rest."

Molten gaze seared through the veil of his silhuoette as he gave the command. Nothing otherwise would be tolerated, not that there was anything left to do. Along with there being nowhere else to go. But it was implied regardless that this was for the greater good, though for who, was unclear.
But it was for the best.

Rest...

         ...the words hardly fell on deaf ears as the pup simply slumped over licking away at his maw to savor the taste of Slade's offering. Just who was this rogue? Savior? No... nothing hinted at Makaro to say Slade was a radiant angel nor even a fallen angel turned devil. This was a Wolf of vile intent that delighted in an aura of dread. -but then was it so bad?

Perhaps this was something the spirits had in store perhaps something greater then-... No, there were those thoughts again that got him into this mess. Damn thespirits and damn destiny. Anywhere was better then dead and if that meant he was about to make a deal with the trickster wolf then so be it! Then again Makaro didn't know just how true that very well may be. So he curled up on himself and closed his eye allowing the body to go limp. 

His leg throbbed and body ached but he was full and able to rest with a level of security. The only thing that he could not control was the night terrors that immediately plagued him to roll over and toss then turn. The faces of the dead laughed at him having passed on while the eyes of those that silenced their howls remained to remind Makaro that one day he would kill them all... one day the entire world would know his name and his fear.