December 31, 2024, 09:34 AM
the steam of his rage mingling with the churned snow and blood beneath their paws. his silence was deafening, golden-green eyes locked on the grotesque man who dared to defile his strength, his pride. ayovi was gone—good. her absence unshackled him from the restraint he might have shown otherwise.
there was nothing to say.
words were hollow now, drowned beneath the roaring tide of bloodlust that surged through his veins. this was no longer about her; it had transcended into something primal, something dark that simmered within his soul and demanded release. she was not his—he knew that. but this man, this disgusting thing before him, had insulted her, had made her into a pawn in a game she never asked to play. for that, faust could not forgive.
his powerful frame moved with feral precision, towering over the brute as he lunged without warning. teeth snapped toward the exposed flesh of his throat, his weight crashing into the exile like a storm against a brittle tree. faust's jaws sought purchase, his grip unrelenting, his snarls a guttural symphony of violence.
blood spilled between them, the air thick with the metallic tang of it. faust felt the scrape of claws, the sting of teeth against his flesh, but they were distant sensations, mere echoes beneath the singular focus of his fury. he needed no victory cry, no verbal proclamation of his intent.
this was enough.
there was nothing to say.
words were hollow now, drowned beneath the roaring tide of bloodlust that surged through his veins. this was no longer about her; it had transcended into something primal, something dark that simmered within his soul and demanded release. she was not his—he knew that. but this man, this disgusting thing before him, had insulted her, had made her into a pawn in a game she never asked to play. for that, faust could not forgive.
his powerful frame moved with feral precision, towering over the brute as he lunged without warning. teeth snapped toward the exposed flesh of his throat, his weight crashing into the exile like a storm against a brittle tree. faust's jaws sought purchase, his grip unrelenting, his snarls a guttural symphony of violence.
blood spilled between them, the air thick with the metallic tang of it. faust felt the scrape of claws, the sting of teeth against his flesh, but they were distant sensations, mere echoes beneath the singular focus of his fury. he needed no victory cry, no verbal proclamation of his intent.
this was enough.
maybe end within the next round of posts :D?
character is rated R
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RE: [m] α - by Faust - December 31, 2024, 09:34 AM