Broken Boulder but if i'm never your hero, i can never let you down

He doesn't know why he's here.

That's a lie.
He's here because the ghosts of his siblings haunt this place, because the only thing he'd ever had the courage to build for himself had been born here, and it'd died here too, because he's spent so long running from the past only to find he can't really let go of it. And it fucking sucks. The stench of death and sickness and piss still lingers in the air, stale and cold by now. It seems the last of the cats have died or moved off, and — it's just so... dead.
Eris must be lonely. The thought strikes at him suddenly and horribly, and his paws are carrying him to the garden they'd both loved so much before he knows what he's doing. Truth be told, he hadn't planned on visiting his sister's grave; it's too cold and final to stare at her resting place, it makes it feel too real. Like she'll never come back. And she won't — but sometimes it's easier to pretend she might, one day. But then he catches sight of it — of Paradise Garden, and the dirt mound where he'd...
She's not coming back.

There was nothing.

The stench of stale feline urine and death lingered in the air like smog. His brows pinched together tightly and a huff of disgust left him. He could not spot a single feral in the area. He couldn't even spot any felines around him.

There is nothing.

So he made his move, walking from one end of territory to the other. He knew where he was going first, to see if the beautiful place was still even alive under all the stench of piss and death. Surely no one would be around to examine this place. Gods above he didn't even know why he was still really here. Just because of some beautiful flowers? Or was it because despite all the hurt he felt being here there was still some good memories? It created a whirlwind of emotions inside of the wolfdog. His dormant aggression seemed to awaken with him being here.

He was something more now.

Then there was something within all of the nothing.

It was a form he would never forget no matter how tattered or ripped it got. Ulf could not — would not — forget the feelings the male had caused within him. Even if he had started out so nice and caring. Everything that had been dormant came to life within him. There was a searing fire that spread through his chest and kissed every inch of his form. His fur prickled and raised, an already curled tail curled tighter over his spine. The last preparation was the parting of his jaws to display each and every ivory curved or jagged weapon in his mouth.

There was no hesitance as he launched himself at the ashen form of Alarian and it was clear that Ulf had changed drastically. That time away had done no one any good.

He hears someone approach, but he doesn't turn to look; the scent tells him a moment later anyway, and the knowledge twists in his chest like a red-hot knife. He doesn't expect to be greeted as a friend — and he doesn't have time to expect anything more, because in a moment the wolfdog is launching toward him with fangs flashing. The impact leaves him breathless and dizzy, but that's all he feels.
It's as if a switch has been flipped — the lights turned out. There's no fear, there's no pain. He does nothing to resist Ulf's attack, whatever it might entail — he can't feel it anyway. There's no sound or sensation, no thought or emotion. It only lasts a few seconds.
And then he's face-first in the cold, slightly-loose dirt over his sister's grave, aching in so many different ways it's impossible to separate it all. There's dirt in his nose, his mouth, his eyes. He chokes on it for a moment, but fear quiets his coughing quickly. Something he can't explain compels him to be as quiet as possible — to let Ulf do whatever he will without a fight. Maybe because he knows he deserves it; maybe because he secretly hopes the wolfdog will kill him. Sure, there are others who deserve to kill him more — but if the job gets done, who can complain?

Dust and dirt kicked up around them, blurring his half-vision for a moment but it was clear what had happened. He had successfully knocked down the lean male and Ulf aimed to grip the back of his neck firmly. He would make his presence known, his force would be reckoned.

A heavy growl built in his throat and barely made it out of his mouth. He would be rough but he would not draw blood, not yet.

His hurt had never been so swift (not within the Sanctuary, not at Farthest Sea) and so no one would be allowed such a quick end. He would take his time and make them feel every ounce of his bottled emotions. This was just the beginning to a long end. So if he had succeeded in his grasp he would release it now and harshly nip at the place between Alarian's shoulder blades with the aim to draw blood. Not a lot but just something to get started.

He feels teeth close around his scruff, and Ulf's growl fills his ears. He still can't find any fight within him — even when the grip releases and it's followed by a sharp nip, and he can feel warm blood beginning to soak into his fur. It's not much, but he sucks in a breath, limbs trembling now.
This is how he's going to die, and it's so, so fitting. He closes his stinging eyes, breath rapid and uneven, and tries to picture his own corpse. Maybe it belongs here; this is where Eris and Runion are, this is where the ghosts of his last memories with Zamael linger. Maybe he just needs to learn when to give up.

Then like a bird he begins to peck at the fur and flesh that lined Alarian's back. None were big enough to cause alarm but he made sure each one would bleed. He held the male's lithe sides between his front legs and once upon a time he would have felt awkward and flustered at such a position — especially after Eris had informed him of the natural feelings behind such actions — but he did not do it out of comfort now. There was anger and control in his actions.

He considered just latching his jaws onto the male's tail but didn't. He did not plan on taking trophies. Not yet. Ulf knew this would require time but he just wanted to leave a reminder of his newfound attitude. He would not be hurt this time. He was no longer a helpless creature lost in the world. He held all the cards and even Ulf knew killing Alarian right now was very possible.

Hurt. He whispered gruffly, accent thick even on the one word. Hurt. He spoke sterner this time and placed one final rough nip where he had started.

Nausea rises quickly within him as Ulf continues to leave a bloody trail down his back, but he can't move or speak — he can hardly breathe past the tightness in his throat and the pounding in his chest. The sharp sting fades to a throbbing ache, a spreading heat in the places where his flesh is torn. His breath catches when the wolfdog speaks.
I'm sorry, He chokes out; he doesn't expect it to change anything. He knows from experience that some hurts cannot be taken back — sometimes there is no second chance. And he doesn't think he deserves one anyway.

pp done with permission

The sorry from the male under him was not met well. His jaws clamped roughly around the ashy male's scruff but he did not aim to injure. No. His presence would already been known from the pecks lining his spine, this was just a reminder who was in charge this time around. There was no one here to stop him. Perhaps, Ulf realized, he was no better than the ferals that roamed every place outside of the Farthest Sea alas it did not matter in his rewired brain.

Ulf had been molded into this, intentional or not. He had come into this world half done and it seemed it had taken time away from home to finish him off.

He released his grip on Alarian and backed up. He half admired his work but there wasn't much time for him to do so as the healer soon bolted off. A snarl rippled along the wolfdog's features but he did not give chase. The beast was tired and happy with today's work. The time to strike again would be soon.