Lust for the Crimson, Crave for the Ruby

Teeth latch onto his opponents face. He bites down hard. Before he can tear into the male, Grim is forced onto his back. His grip is loosened. Now the black wolf stands on him. Words call for him to stand down. Grim knows no such restraints. He ignores the insult the wolf calls to him. What use was insulting an opponent? They were merely words. Words are power, the good in him echoes. Anger flares inside him. Words are nothing. Action is what matters. If a wolf is dead, what words could they voice? None. Both anger and joy roll within him, giving him strength. He twists, ignoring the pain of getting his front paws beneath him. He shoves himself up, hard. Jaws wide, he strikes. It's gone too far now. The dark voices sing in his mind. He can't understand them. They all try to speak at once. But he knows they call for blood. His mind is starting to blur. A focus of tearing into this wolf drives him. It won't be long before he forgets himself completely. He teeters on the edge of sanity. Not that he was very sane to begin with. If he loses himself here, this fight will end badly. He doesn't care who wins. Who loses. All he cares about is his need. If one of them dies, so be it. He doesn't care about hiding now. This is a pack of murderers. Death is common to them. They should understand if he kills. He can't help himself. But he can't die here either. Not if he wants more deaths. The thought almost sobers him. Almost. His lunge for the black wolf doesn't take a pause. He will have his fight.